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THE 
YOUNG  GJEWTJLEMJJV  AND 


M  O  N  I  T  O 


AND 


ENGLISH  TEACHER'S  ASSISTANT : 

BEING 

A  COLLECTION  OF  SELECT  PIECES- 

FROM   OUR   BEST 

MODERN  WRITERS: 

•Calculated  to  eradicate  vulgar  Prejudices  and  Rusticity  of 
Manners  ;  Improve  the  Understanding  ;  Rectify  the 
Will  ;  Purify  the  Passions  ;  Direct  the  Minds  of  Youth 
to  the  Pursuit  of  proper  Objects  ;  and  to  facilitate  thru- 
Heading,  Writing,  and  Speaking  the  English  Lancuaee 
with  Elegance  and  Propriety. 

Particularly  adapted  for  the  Ufe  of  our  eminent  Schools  and  Acad- 
emies as  well  ss  private  Perfons,  who  have  not  an  Opportunity 
of  perufing  the  Works  of  thcfc  celebrated  Authors,  from  whence 
this  Collection  is  made. 

DIVIDED    INTO 

Smdl  Portions  for  the  Ease  of.  Reading  in  Classed. 

BY  J.  HAMILTON  MOORE, 

Author  of  the  Practical  Mmggfyr:apd  Seaman's  JVcw  Daily 


THE   SECOND  HARTFORD  EDITION. 


HARTFORD  : 

PRINTED  If  OR   O.  jD.  COOKE, 

LINCOLN   8v  GLEASONj  PRINTERS. 
1804. 


r\          i*     j 

oJ    *s*>)»w»*tr**"'^*y 


PREFACE. 

AS  the  deftgn  »f  Learning  is  to  render  perfins  agreeable  companions  fo 
fhemfelves,  and  ufeful  members  of  fid  ty  ;  t»  fupport  folitude  tviti  pleafurf, 
ana  t.<  faft  through  prom'ifcunus  temptations  "with  prudence  ;  'tis  prefumed 
this  compilation  will  not  6t  unac-eptablc  ;  being  compofid  of  pieces  ftlefted 
from  the  mojl  celebrated  mo  at  iv  itsrs  in  the  Englijb  languagt,  equally  cal- 
culated to  promote  the  principle*  <f  religion,  and  to  render  youth  vigilant  in 
dif:ha-  y'tg  the  facial  and  relative  duties  in  the  fever  al  Jlations  of  life  ;  by  in- 
JlUUr  ^  into  their  minds  fuch  wdxims  of  virtue  and  good  breeding,  as  tend  to 
eradicate  local  prejudices  and  rufiicity  of  manners  ;  and  at  the  fame  time,  Lai" 
ituate  them'  to  an  elegant  manner  of  exprcffing  themfelves  either  in  Writing 
or  ^p.aking. 

And  as  tbefrfi  imprffion  made  on  tie  minds  efyiutb  is  the  mofl  lafling, 
gr*st  carejbould  he  taken  to  furnijb  them  ivith  fuch  feeds  of  reafon  and  phi- 
Ivj  tihy,  as  m.iy  refl'fy  and  fiveeten  every  pirt  of  their  future  lives  ;  by  mark- 
i*\r  ;>ut  a  proper  behavior  bt>th  -with  refp?ff  to  tbemftlvcs  and  others,  and  ex- 
hibiting ever  t  virtue  to  their  •vie^u  "which  claims  their  attention ,  and  every  vice 
ivhicb  they  ought  to  avoid.  Injicad  of this ,  i&r  generally  fee  youth  fujfered  to 
read  romances,  ivbich  imprefs  on  their  minds  fuch  notions  of  Fairies >  uw/'*/j 
t3*tf.  that  cxijl  snly  in  the  imagination,  and  being  firongly  imbibed \  take  muck 
time  to  eradicate ,  and  very  often  bajjle  all  the  fattier  of  fibilofopby.  If  books 
abounding  ivith  moral  inftrutficns,  conveyed  in  a  proper  manner ^  'were  given 
in  their Jtead^  the  frequent  reading  of  them  ivould  implant  in  their  minds  fuel 
ideas  andfentiments^as  would  enable  them  to  guard  againjl  tbefe  prejudices  fz 
frequently  met  toitb  amongst  the  ignorant. 

Nor  is  itpojjible  that  any  perfon  canfpeak  or  ivriie  ivith  ehgance  and 'pro- 
priety ii  ho  has  not  been  taught  to  read  <wel!y  and  in  fuib  books  •where  the 
fttntitneiits  are  jufi  and  the  language  pure. 

An  injipid  jlatnefs  and  lunguor  is  almoft  the  universal  fault  in  reading  ,• 
tjten  iitteting  their  words  ft  faint  and  feeble^  that  they  appsar  neither  tofesl 
or  underhand  ivbat  they  read,  nor  have  any  dejire  it  favuld  be  undejjiooi  or 
felt  by  others.  In  order  io  acquire  a  forcible  manner  of  pronouncing  words  % 
let  the  pupils  inure  tfctfftfifveSj  ivbile  rcadinv,  to  draiv  in  as  much  air  as  their 
lungs  can  contain  ivith  eafe,  and  to  expel  it  ivith  vehemence  in  uttering  thofe 
founds  ivbich  require  an  cmplaii^al  pronunciation,  and  to  read  aloud  ivith  alt 
the  exertion  they  c  <n  command ;  let  all  the  confonant  founds  be  exf  re/fed  ivitL 
a  full  impulfe  of  the  breath^  and  a  forcible  aftion  of  the  organs  emp'oyed  in 
forming  them  ;  and  all  the  voivel  founds  Lave  a  full  and  bold  utterance* 

Thefe  reafons,  and  to  infytre  youth  ivith  noble  fcnt'ements,jnjl  expreffion,  to 
fjfe  the  teacher,  and  to  render  a  book  chejp  and  convenient  for  fcbools,  as  ivell 
as  private  perfons  ivbo  h  ive  neither  time  nor  opportunity  to  pernfe  the  "works 
oftboje  celebt  at ed  authors  from  whence  this  collection  is  made,  ivas  the  cavfc 
of  thefoHoiviKg  compilation. 

And  as  fpeecbes  in  both  boufes  of  parliament,  pleadings  at  the  bar,  inflrui- 
tions  in  the  falpit,  and  commercial  correspondence,  are  delivered  and  carried  en 
in  the  Envlijb  language :  the  clotbing-our  theugbts  ivith  proper  exprejfions, 
*nd  conveying  our  id?as,  either  in  •writing  or  fpe -iking,  agreeably,  cannot  fail 
t>f  making  an  imprejjion  upon  the  bearer  or  reader,  for,  a  man's  knoiv  edge 
'is  cj  little  vf?  to  t&e  ivorld,  ivben  be  is  not  able  to  convey  it  propetfly  to  oth- 
f  rs  ;  ivhicb  is  the  cafe  of  many  uuho  art  endowed  with  excellent  parts,  but 
are  either  afraid  or  ajbamcd of  writing,  or  fpeaking  in  public,  being  fsnfctQus 
*f  their  own  deficiency  of  exprejjing  tbemjelves  in  proper  Urws* 


PREFACE.. 

In  order  to  remedy  tltfe  defcfls,  and  to  eafe  the  teacher,  I  ivculd  advif^ 
that  feveral young  gentlemen  read  in  a  c/afs,  e.ach  a  fentence  in  this  book,  (it 
being  divided  into  fmall  portions  for  that  purpofij  as  often  as  convenient :  and 
let  him  iuLo  reads  bejl  be  advanced /<?  the  lead,  or  lave  fume  pecuniary  reivard; 
and  every  inferior  one  according  to  bis  merit ;  this  tuill  create  emulation 
among  thtm^  and  facilitate  their  improvement  much  more  than  threats  or  cor- 
rcSlions,  iih'uh  fttpifies  and  intimidates  them,  and  often  ends  in  contempt  of 
their  teachers,  and  learning  in  general.  This  ivill  draw  forth  thofs  latent 
abilities ,  which  other'ivife  might  lie' dormant  for  ever. 

It  may  not  le  improper  far  the  teacher,  or  fame  good  reader,  to  read  a  fenv 
tence  or  t-vj&.jirjl,  that  the  learners  may  gain  the  proper  etnphafis,  and  read 
without  that  monotony  fe  painful  to  a  gocd  ear:  for  they  ivill  improve  more 
by  imitating  a  good  reader,  than  any  rulet  that  can  be  laid  duivn  to  them. 
When  they  come  to  read  gracefully,  let  thim  Jland  up  in  the  fchool  and  read 
a'oud,  in  order  to  tale  cff  that  bajhfulnefs  generally  attending  thofe  ivho  are 
called  upon  either  ti  read  or  fpeak  ir,  public. 

T/JS  next  tLi.ng  I  tuould  reeomm^nd,  is  the  Englifo  Grammar,  (tie  bcjl 
I  know  of  is  Buchanan's  fynt,ixj  ibe  knowledge  of  luhicb  is  abfolutely  neccjfa~ 
ty,  as  it  is  the  f did  foundation  upon  which  all  zther  Jcience  ref.s.  Sifter  tbay 
have  run  over  the  rules  offyntax,  the  teacher  may  d>6i>ite  to  them  one  or  more 
fsntenccs  in  fa?fs  Englijl,  ivhich  thty  may  correct  liy  their  grammar  rules , 
and  afi  find  out  the  various  Jignrjications  of  each  icord  in  the  diff  lottery  ;  by 
ivhich  means  they  ivill  foon  acquire  s  copious  -vocabulary ,  and  become  acquaint- 
ed net  iviih  ivorJs  only,  but  ivith  things  ihcvnf elves.  Let  them  gst  thofe  fen  " 
fences  by  heart  to  fpeak  extempore  ;  ii-hi;h  'will,  in  fane  me<ifurey  be  deliver- 
ing their  oivn  compoftiiensy  and  may  be  repeated  as  ojten  as  convenient.  This 
ivill f von  give  tie  young  gentlemen  au  idea  of  the  force,  elegance,  and  beauty  of" 
the  Englifb  Language. 

'The  next  thing  I  ivould  gladly  tecommcnd,  is  that  of  lctter-*writing,  a 
Iranch  of  t ducat tt/n,  iuhich  feems  to  me  of  tie  utrnojl  utility,  and  in  which  mcft 
of  our  youth  are  deficient  at  their  leaving  Jcbool  ;  beir.g  fuffered  to  form  their 
GIVH  Jlyle  by  chance,  or  imitate  the  firjl  iu>  etched  model  that  falls  in  their  ivay% 
Itf ore  they  knoiv  ivhat  is  faulty,  or  can  relijh  the  beauties  of  a  jujljimpliciiy. 

For  their  improvement  in  tLis  particular  ,ihe  teacher  may  caufe  every  young 
gentleman  to  have  ajlatc  or  paper  before  him,  on  Saturdays,  and  then  diffate 
a  letter  to  them,  either  of  his  own  tompojition,  or  taken  out  of  fome  book,  and 
turn  it  into  fjlfe  Englifo,  to  exercife  them  in  the  grammar  rules ,  if  he  thin! s 
proper,  -which  they  Jbould  all  -write  doivn,  and  then  corrtftandtravfcribc  it 
fairly  in  their  books. 

lifter  the  young  gentlemen  have  been  accufloKied  to  this  fome  time,  a  fitppuftd 
eorrefpondence  may  befixt  between  every  tivo  of  tbcm,  and  ivritc  to  one  another 
•under  the  infpeSlion  of  the  teacher,  ivbo  may  cor  reft  end  jkoiv  their  faults 
•when  lie  fees  occvfion  ;  by  fuch  a  method  be  ivi!l  foon  find  them  improve  in 
fpijldary  writing.  The  fims  vuy  be  ohfirvcd  ivith  regard  to  young  laJ;est 
•who  are  very  often  deficient,  not  only  in  orthography,  but  every  other  part  of 
grammar. 

IffemetbingfinHat  to  this  method  le  purfued,  it  will  foon  rcf  ft  1  cnor  on 
the  teacher,  give  the  bigbeflfatiifa&ion  to  judicious  parents  and  cnt.iil  upon 
tbefcholar  a  ptcajing  and  loping  advantage.  7'UE  EDO  QR. 


YOUNG  GENTLEMAN  AND  LADY'S 

MONITOR 


Pursuit  of  Knowledge  recommended  to  Youth.. 

1.  T  AM  very  much  concerned  when  I  see  young  gen- 
JL  tlemen  of  fortune  and  quality  so  wholly  set  upon 
pleasure  and  diversions,  that  they  neglect  all  those  im- 
provements in  wisdom  and  knowledge  which  may  make 
them  easy  to  themselves  and  useful  to  the  world.  The 
greatest  part  of  our  British  youth  lose  their  figure,  and 
grow  out  of  fashion,  by  that  time  they  are  five  and  twenty. 
2.  As  soon  as  the  natural  gaiety  and  amiableness  of  the 
young  man  wears  off,  they  have  nothing  left  to  recommend 
them,  but  lie  by  the  rest  of  their  lives,  among  the  lumber 
and  refuse  of  the  species. 

It  sometimes  happens,  indeed,  that  for  want  of  apply- 
ing themselves  in  due  time  to  the  pursuits  of  knowledge*, 
they  take  up  a  book  in  their  declining  years,  and  grow 
very  hopeful  scholars  by  that  time  they  are  threescore. 
I  must  therefore  earnestly  press  my  readers  who  are  in  the 
flower  of  their  youth,  to  labor  at  those  accomplishments 
which  may  set  off  their  persons  when  their  bloom  is  gone, 
and  to  lay  in  timely  provisions  for  manhood  and  old  age. 
In  short,  I  would  advise  the  youth  of  fifteen  to  be  dressing 
up  every  day  the  man  of  fifty  ;  or  to  consider  how  to- 
make  himself  venerable  at  threescore. 
A  S 


\\ 

6  The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  M< 

-3.  Young  men,  who  are  naturally  ambitious,  would  do 
well  to  observe  how  the  greatest  men  of  antiquity  made  it 
their  ambition  to  excel  all  their  cotemporaries  in  knowL 
tedge.  Julius  Cesar  and  Alexander,  the  most  celebrated'' 
instancese  of  human ,  greatness,  took  a  particular  care  to 
distinguish  themselves  by  their  skill  in  the  arts  and  scien- 
ces. We  have  still  extant,  several  remains  of  the  former, 
which  justify  the  character  given  of  him  by  the  learned 
men  of  his  own  age. 

4.  As  for  the   latter,  it  is  a  known  saying  of  his,  that 
he  was  more  obliged  to  Aristotle,  who  had  instructed  him, 
than  to  Philip,  who  had  given  him  life  and  empire.  There 
is  a  letter  of  his  recorded  by  Plutarch  and  Aldus  Gellius, 
which  he  wrote  to  Aristotle,  upon  hearing  that  he  had  pub- 
lished those  lectures  he  had  given  him  in  private.     This 
letter  was  written  m  the  following  words,  at  a  time  when 
he  was  in  the  height  of  his  Persian  conquests. 

5.  Alexander  to  Aristotle,  greeting. 

"  YOU  have  not  done  v/ell  to  publish  your  books  of 
"  select  knowledge  J  ..for  what  is  there  now  in  which  I  can 
"  surpass  others,  if  those  things  which  I  have  been  in- 
a  structed  in  are  communicated  to  every  body  ?  For  my 
"  own  part  I  declare  to  you,  I  would  rather  excel  others 
"  in  knowledge  than  power.  FaretvcL" 

6.  We  see  by  this  letter  that  the  love  of  conquest  was 
but  the  second  ambition  in  Alexander's  soul.     Knowledge 
is  indeed  that,  which,  next  to  virtue,  truly   and  essentially 
raises  one  man  above  another.  It  furnishes  one  half  of  the 
human  soul.     It  makes  being  pleasant  to  us,  fills  the  mind 
with  entertaining  views,  and  administers  to  it  a  perpetual 
series  of  gratifications. 

It  gives  ease  to  solitude,  and  gracefulness  to  retirement, 
It  fills  a  public  station  with  suitable  abilities,  and  adds  a 
lustre  to  those  who  are  in  the  possession  of  them. 

7.  Learning,  by  which   I  mean  all  useful  knowledge, 
whether  speculative   or  practical,  is  in  popular  and  mixt 
governments  the  natural  source  of  wealth    and    honor. 
If  we  look  into  most  of  the  reigns  from  the  conquest,  we 
shall  find,  that  the  favorites  of  each  reign  have  been  those; 
who  have  raised  themselves.     The    greatest    men   are 
generally  the  growth  of  that  particular  age  in  which  they 
flourish. 


and  English  Teacher's  A s  s  I  s  T A.N  T.  7 

8.  A  superior  capacity    for  business,   and  a  mere  ex- 
tensive knowledge,    are  the  steps  by  which  a  new  man 
often  mounts  to  favor,  and  outshines  the  rest  of  his  co- 
temporaries.     But  when  men  are  actually  born  to  titles, 
it  is  almost  impossible   that  they  should  fail  of  receiving 
an  additional  greatness,  if  they  take  care  to  accomplish 
themselves  for  it. 

9.  The  story  of  Solomon's  choice,  does  not  oaly  instruct 
us  in  that  point  of  history,   but  furnishes  out  a  very  finp 
moral   to  us,  namely,  that  he   who,  applies  his  heart  to 
wisdom,  does  at   the  same  time  take  the  most  proper 
method  for  gaining  long  life,  riches. and  reputation,  which 
are  very  often  not  only  the  rewards,  but.  the  effects  of 
wisdom. 

10.  As  it  is  very  suitable  to  my  present  subject,  I  shall 
first  of  all  quote  this  passage  in  the  words  of  sacred  writ, 
and  afterwards  mention  an  allegory,  in  which  this  whole 
passage  is  represented   by  a  famous   French  Poet :  net 
questioning  but  it  will  be  very  pleasing  to  such  of  my  rea- 
ders as  have  a  taste  for  fine  writing. 

11.  In  Gibson  the  Lord  appeared  to  Solomon  in  a  dream 
by  night :   and  God  said,  "  Ask  what  I  shall  give   thee." 
And  Solomon  said,  "  Thau  hast  shewed  unto  thy  servant 
"  Da-vidy  ray  father,  great  mercy,  according  as  he  walked 
"  before  thee  in  truth,  and  in  righteousness,  and  in  up- 
"  rightness  of  heart  with  thee,  and.  thou  has  kept  for-  him 
"  this  great  kindness,  that  thou  hast  given  him  a  son  to 
"  sit  on  his  throne,  as  it  is  this  day.     And  now,    O  Lord 
"  my  God,  thou  hast  made  thy  servant  King  instead  of 
"  David  my  father  ;   and  I  am  but  a  little  child  ;   I  know 
"  not  how  to  go  out  or  come  in. 

12.  "  Give    therefore    thy  servant   an  understanding 
"  heart  to  judge  thy  people,  that  I  may  discern  between 
u  good  and  bad,  for  who  is  able  to  judge  this  thy  so  great 
"  a  people  ?"  And  the   speech  pleased    the  Lord,    that 
Solomon  had  asked  this  thing.     And   God  said  unto  him, 
"  because  thou  hast  asked  this  thing,  and  hast  not  asked 
"  fo"  4|  "self  long  life,  neither  hast  asked  riches  for  thy- 
"  selt,  iiOr  hast  asked  the  life  of  thine  enemies,  but  hast 
u  asked  for  thyself  understanding  to  discern  judgment  • 
**  behold^  I  have  done  according  to  i.hy  words,  so  I  have 
(<  given  thee  a  wise  and  understanding  heart,   so  that 


9          The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR. 

a  there  was  none  like  thee  before  thee,  neither  after  thee 
"  shall  any  arise  like  unto  thee. 

13-.  "  And  I  have  also  given  thee  that  which  thou  hast 
"  not  asked,  both  riches  and  honor,  so  that  there  shall 
"  not  be  any  among  the  kings  like  unto  thee  all  thy  days. 
"  And  if  thou  wilt  walk  in  my  ways,  to  keep  my  statutes 
a  and  my  commandments  as  thy  father  David  did  walk, 
"  then  I  will  lengthen  thy  days/*  And  Solomon  awoke>. 
and  behold  it  was  a  dream. — 

14.  The  French  poet  has  shadowed  this  story  in  an  alle- 
gory,  of  which    he   seems    to  have  taken  the  hint  from 
the  fable  of  the  three   goddesses    appearing  to  Paris,  or 
rather  from  the  vision  of  Hercules    recorded  by  XenopJivn, 
where  Pleasure  and  Virtue  are  represented  as  real  persons 
making   their   court  to   the    hero  with  all  their  several 
charms  and  allurements,. 

15.  Health,  wealth,  victory  and  honor  are  introduced 
successively   in  their  proper   emblems    and.  characters, 
each  of  them  spreading  her   temptations,  and    recom- 
mending herself  to  the  young  monarch's  choice.  Wisdom 
enters  last,  and  so  captivates  him  with  her  appearance, 
that  he  gives  himself  up  to  her.     Upon  which  she  informs 
him,  that  those  who  appeared  before  her  were  nothing  but 
her  equipage,  and  that  since  he  had  placed  his  heart  upon 
wisdom,  health,  wealth,  victory  and  honor  should  always 
•wait  on  her  as  her  handmaids. 


Directions  how  to  sjiend  our  time. 

LTTTEall.of  us  complain  of  the  shortness  of  time, 
V  V  saith  Seneca^  and  yet  have  much  more  than  we 
know  what  to  do  with.  Our  lives,  says  he,  are  spent 
either  in  doing  nothing  at  all,  or  in  doing  nothing  to  the 
purpose,  or  in  doing  nothing  that  we  ought  to  do  :  we  are 
always  complaining  our  days  are  few,  and  acting  as  though 
there  would  be  no  end- of  them...  That  noble  philosopher 
has  described  our  inconsistency  with  ourselves  in  this 
particular,  by  all  those  various  turns  of  expression  and 
thought  which  are  peculiar  to  his  writings. 

2.  I  often  consider  mankind  as  wholly  inconsistent  with 
itself  in  a  point  that  bears  some  affinity  to  the  former, 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  9 

Though  we  seem  grieved  at  the  shortness  of  life  in  gen- 
eral, we  are  wishing  every  period  of- it  at  an  end.  The 
minor  longs  to  be  at  age,  then  to  be  a  man  of  business, 
then  to  make  up  an  estate,  then  to  arrive  at  honors, 
then  to  retire.  Thus,  although  the  whole  of  life  is  al- 
lowed by  every  one  to  be  short,  the  several  divisions  of  it 
appear  long  and  tedious. 

5.  We  are  for  lengthening  our  span  in  general,  but 
would  fain  contract  the  parts  ef  which  it  is  composed.  The 
usurer  would  be  very  well  satisfied  to  have  all  the  time 
annihilated  that  lies  between  the  present  moment  and 
next  quarter  day.  The  politician  would  be  contented  to 
lose  three  years  in  his  life,  could  he  place  things  in  the 
posture  which  he  fancies  they  will  stand  in  after  such  a 
revolution  of  lime. 

4.  The  lover  would  be  glad  to  strike  out  of  his  exist- 
ence all  the  moments  that  are  to   pass  away  before  the 
happy    meeting.     Thus,    as  far    as  our   time    runs,  we 
should  be  very  glad  in  most  parts  of  our  lives,  that  it  ran 
much  faster  than  it  does.     Several  hours  of  the  day  hang 
upon  our  hands,  nay   we   wish    away  whole  years  ;   and 
travel  through  time  as  through  a  country  filled  with  many 
wild  and  empty  wastes,  which  we  would  fain  hurry  over, 
that  we    may  arrive  at  those  several   little  settlements  or 
imaginary  points  of  rest,  which  are   dispersed  up   and 
down  in  it. 

5.  If  we  may  divide  the  life  of  most  men  into  twenty 
parts,  we  shall  find,  that  at    least  nineteen   of  them  are 
mere   gaps  and   chasms,    which   are  neither  filled   with 
pleasure  nor  business.     I  do  not  however  include  in  this 
calculation  the  life  of  those   men  who  are  in  a  perpetual 
hurry  of  affairs,  but  of  those  only  who  are   not    always 
engaged  in  scenes  of  action  :   sml  I  hope  I  shall  not  do  an 
unacceptable  piece  of  service  to  those  persons,    if  I  point 
out  to  them  certain  methods  for  the  filling  up  their  empty 
spaces  of  life.    The  methods  I  shall  propose  to  them  are 
as  follow  : 

6.  The  first  is  the  exercise  of  virtue,  in  the  most  gen- 
eral   acceptation  of  the  word.     That  particular  scheme 
which  comprehends  the  social  virtues,  may  give  employ- 
ment to  the  most  industrious  temper,  and  find  a  man  in 
business  more  than  the  most  active  station  of  life.     To 


ib         The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

advise  the  ignorant,  relieve  the  needy,  comfort  the  afflkt- 
ed,  are  duties  that  fall  in  our  way  almost  every  day  of  our 
lives. 

7.  A  man  lias  frequent  opportunities  of  mitigating  the 
fierceness  of  a  party  :  of  doing  justice  to  the  character  of 
a  deserving  man  ;  of  softening  the  envious,   quieting  the 
angry,  and   rectifying  the   prejudiced;  which   are  all  of 
them    employments  suited  to  a  reasonable  nature,    and 
bring  great  satisfaction  to  the  person  who  can  busy  himself 
in  them  with  discretion. 

8.  There  is  another  kind  of  virtue  that  may  find  em- 
ployment for  those  retired  hours  in  which  we  are  altoge- 
ther left  to  ourselves,  and  destitute  of  company  and  con- 
versation ;   1  mean  that  intercourse   and  communication 
which  every  reasonable  creature  ought  to  maintain  with 
the  great  Author  of  his  being. 

9.  The   man  who  lives  under  an  habitual  sense  of  the 
divine  presence,  keeps  up  a  perpetual  cheerfulness  of  tem- 
per, and  enjoys  every  moment  the  satisfaction  of  thinking 
himself  in  company  with  his  dearest  and  best  of  friends. 
The  time  never  lies  heavy  upon  him  ;  it  is  impossible 
for  him  to  be  alone. 

10.  His  thoughts  and  passions  are  the  most  busied  at 
such 'hours  when '-those  of  other  men  are  the  most  unac- 
tive  ;  lie  no  sooner  steps  out  of  the   world,  but  his  heart 
burns  with  devotion,   swells  with  hope,    and  triumphs  in 
the  consciousness  of  that  presence  which  every   where 
surrounds  him  ;  or,  on  the  contrary,  pours  out  its  fears, 
its  sorrows,  its  apprehensions,  to  the  great  supporter  of  its 
existence. 

1 1.  I  have  here  only  considered  the  necessity  of  a  man's 
being  virtuous,  that  he  may  have  something  to  do  ;  but  if 
we  consider  further,  that  the  exercise  of  virtue  is  not  only 
an  amusement  for  the  time  it  lasts,  but  that  its  influence 
extends  to-  those  parts  of  our  existence  which  lie  beyond 
the  grave,  and  that  our  whole  eternity  is  to  take  its  color 
from  those  hours  which  we  here  employ  in   virtue  or  in 
vice,  the  argument  redoubles  upon  us,  for  putting  in  prac- 
tice this  method  of  passing  away  our  time. 

12.  When  a  man  has  but  a  little  stock  to  improve,  and 
has  opportunities  of  turning  it  all  to  good  account,  what 
shall  we  think  of  him.  if  he  suffers  nineteen  parts  of  it  to 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  1 1 

lie  dead,  and  perhaps  employs  even  the  twentieth  to  his 
ruin  or  disadvantage  ?  But  because  the  mind  cannot  be  al- 
ways in  its  fervor  nor  strained  up  to  a  pitch  of  virtue,  it 
is  necessary  t0  find  out  proper  employments  for  it  in  its 
relaxations. 

13.  The  next  method  therefore  that  I  would  propose  to 
fill  up  our  time,  should  be   useful  and  innocent  diversion. 
I  must  confess  I  think  it  is  below  reasonable  creatures  to 
be  altogether  conversant  in  such  diversions  as  are  merely 
innocent,  and  having  nothing  else  to, recommend  them  but 
that  there  is  no  hurt  in  them. 

14.  Whether  any  kind  of  gaming  has  even  thus  much 
to  say  for  itself,  I  shall  not  determine  ;  but  I  think  it  is 
very  wonderful  to  see  persons  of  the  best  sense,  passing 
away  a  dozen  hours  together  in  shuffling  and   dividing  a 
pack  of  cards,  with  no  other  conversation  but  what  is  made 
up  of  a  few  game  phrases,  and  no  other  ideas  but  those  of 
black  or  red  spots  ranged  together  in  different  figures. 
Would  not  a  man  laugh  to  hear  any  one  of  his  species 
complaining  that  time  is  short  ? 

15.  The  stage  might  be  made  a  perpetual  source  of  the 
most  noble  and  useful  entertainments,  were  it  under  prop- 
er regulations. 

But  the  mind  never  unbends  itself  so  agreeably  as  in 
the  conversation  of  a  well  chosen  friend.  There  is  indeed 
no  blessing  of  life  that  is  any  way  comparable  to  the  en- 
joyment of  a  discreet  and  virtuous  friend.  It  eases  and 
unloads  the  mind,  clears  and  improves  the  understanding, 
engenders  thought  and  knowledge,  animates  virtue 
and  good  resolution,  sooths  and  allays  the  passions,  and 
linds  employment  for  mosjt  of  the  vacant  hours  of 
life. 

16.  Next  to  such  an  intimacy  with  a  particular  person, 
one  would   endeavor   after  a  more  general  conversation, 
with  such  as  are  able  to  entertain  and  improve  those  with 
whom  they  converse,  which  are  qualifications  that  seldom 
go  asunder. 

There  are  many  other  useful  amusements  of  life,  which 
one  would  endeavor  to  multiply,  that  one  might  on  all 
occasions  have  recourse  to  something  rather  than  sufier 
the  mind  to  lie  idle,  or  run  adrift  with  any  passion  that 
chances  to  rise  in  it. 


]2        The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

17.  A  man  that  has  a  taste  in  music,  painting,  or  archi- 
tecture, is  like  one  that  has  another  sense  when  compared 
with  such  as  have  no  relish  of  those  arts.  The  florist,  the 
planter,  the  gardener,  the  husbandman,  when  they  are  on- 
ly as  accomplishments  to  the  man  of  fortune,  are  great 
reliefs  to  a  country  life,  and  many  ways  useful  to  those 
who  are  possessed  of  them. 

SPECTATOR,  NO.  93. 

18.  T  WAS  yesterday  busy  in  comparing  together  the 
JL  industry  of  man  with  that  of  other  creatures  ;  in 
which  I  could  not  but  observe,  that  notwithstanding  we 
are  obliged  by  duty  to  keep  ourselves  in  constant  employ, 
after  the  same  manner  as  inferior  animals  are  prompted 
to  it  by  instinct,  we  fall  very  short  of  them  in  tiris  partic- 
ular. 

19.  We  are  here  the  more  inexcusable,  because  there 
is  a  greater  variety   of  business  to  which  we  may  apply 
ourselves.     Reason  opens  to  us   a  large  field   of  affairs, 
which  other  creatures  are  not  capable  of.     Beasts  of  prey, 
and  I  believe  all  other  kinds,  in  their  natural  state  of  be- 
ing, divide  their  time  between  action  and  rest.     They  are 
always  at  work  or  asleep.     In   short  their  awaking  hours 
are  wholly  taken  up  in  seeking  after  their  food,  or  in  con- 
suming it. 

20.  The  human  species  only,  to  the  great  reproach  of 
our   natures,  are  filled   with  complaints.     That  the  day 
hangs  heavy  on  them,  that  they  do  not  know  what  to  do 
with  themselves,  that  they  are  at  a  loss  how  to  pass  away 
their  time,  with  many  of  the  like   shameful  murmurs, 
which  we  often  find  in  the  mouth  of  those  who  are  stiled 
reasonable  beings. 

2 1.  How  monstrous  are  such  expressions  among  crea- 
tures who  have  the  labors  of  the  mind,  as  well  as  those 
of  the  body,  to  furnish  them  with  proper  employments  ; 
who  besides  the  business  of  their  proper  callings  and  pro- 
fessions, can  apply  themselves  to  the  duties  of  religion,  to 
meditation,    to  the  reading  of  useful  books,  to  discourse  ; 
in  a  word,  who  may  exercise  themselves  in  the  unbounded 
pursuits  of  knowledge  and  virtue,  and  every  hour  of  their 
lives  make  themselves  wiser  or  better  than  they  \veie  be- 
fore. 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT-  13 

22.  After  having  been  taken  up  for  some  time  in  this 
course  of  thought,  I  diverted  myself  with  a  book,  according 
to  my  usual  custom,  in  order  to  unbend  my  mind  before  I 
went  to  sleep.     The  book  I  made  use  of  on  this  accasion 
was  Luciari)  where  I  amused  my  thoughts  for  about  an 
hour  among  the  dialogues  of  the  dead,  which  in  all  prob- 
ability produced  the  following  dream. 

23.  I  was  conveyed,  methought,   into  the  entrance  of 
the  infernal  regions,  were  I  saw  Rhadamanthus^  one  of 
the  judges  of  the  dead,  seated  in  his  tribunal.     On  his  left 
hand  stood  the  keeper  of  Erebus,  on  his  right  the  keeper 
of  Elysium.  I  was  told  he  sat  upon  women  that  day,  there 
'being  several  of  the  sex  lately  arrived,  who  had  not  yet 
£heir  mansions  assigned  them. 

24.  I  was  surprised  to  hear  him  ask  every  one  of  them 
the  same  question,  namely,  What  they  had  been  doing  ? 
Upon  this  question  being  proposed  to  the  whole  assembly, 
they  stared  upon  one  another,  as  not  knowing  what  to 
answer.     He  then  interrogated  each  of  them  separately. 
Madam,  says  he,  to  the  first  of  them,  you  have  been  upon 
the  earth  about  fifty  years  ;  what  have  you  been  doing 
there  all  this  while  ?  Doing,  says  she,  really   I  do  not 
know  what  I  have  been  doing  :  I  desire  I  may  have  time 
given  me  to  recollect. 

25.  After  about  half  an  hour's  pause,  she  told  him  that 
&he  had  been  playing  at  crimp  ;  upon  which  Rhadaman- 
thus  beckoned  to  the  keeper  on  his  left  hand,  to  take  her 
into  custody.     And   you,  Madam,  says  the  judge,  that 
look  with  such  a  soft  and  languishing  air  ;  I  think  you 
set  out  for  this  place  in  your  nine  and  twentieth  year  ; 
what  have  you  been  doing  all  this  while  ?  I  had  a  great 
deal  of  business  on  my  hands,  says  she^being  taken  up 
the  first  twelve  years  of  my  life,   in  dressing  a  jointed 
baby,  and  all  the  remaining  part  of  it  in  reading  plays 
and  romances. 

26.  Very  well,  says  he,  you  have  employed  your  time 
to  good  purpose.     Away  with  her.    The  next  was  a  plain 
country  woman :  Well,  mistress,  says  Rhadamanthiis,  and 
what  have  you  been  doing  ?  An't  please  your  worship, 
says  she,  I  did  not  live  quite  forty  years  ;  and  in  that 
time  brought  my  husband  seven   daughters,  made  him 
nine  thousand  cheeses,  and  left  my  eldest  ghi  with  him  to 

B 


14        The  Young  Gentleman  and  Ladifs  MONITOR, 

look  after  his  house  in  my  absence,  and  who,  I  may  ven- 
ture to  say,  is  as  pretty  a  housewife  as  any  in  the  country. 

27.  Rhadamanthus  smiled  at  the  simplicity  of  the  good 
\voman,   and  ordered  the  keeper  of  Elysium  to  take  her 
into  his  care.     And  you,  fair  lady,  says  he,  what  have  you 
been  doing  these  five  and  thirty  years  ?  I  have  been  doing 
no  hurt,  I  assure  you  sir,  said  she.     That  is  well,  says  he, 
but  what  good  have  you  been  doing  ?  The  lady  was  iu 
great  confusion  at  this  question,  and  not  knowing  what 
to  answer,  the  two  keepers  leaped  out  to  seize  her  at  the 
same  time  :  the  one  took  her  by  the  hand  to\onvey  her 
to  Eli/siirm  ;  the  other  caught  hold  of  her  to  carry  her 
away  to  Erebus. 

28.  But  Rhadamanthus  observing  an  ingenious  modesty 
in  her  countenance  and  behavior,  bid  them  both  let  her 
loose,  and  set  her  aside  for  a  re-examination  when  he  was 
more  at  leisure.     An  old   Woman,  of  a  proud  and  sour 
look,  presented  herself  next  at  the  bar,  and  being  asked 
•what  she  had  been  doing  ?  Truly,  says  she,  I  lived  three 
score  and  ten  years  in  a  very  wicked  world,   and  was  so 
angry  at  the  behavior  of  a  parcel  of  young  flirts,  that  I 
past  most  of  my  last  years  in  condemning  the  follies  of 
the  times. 

29.  I  was  every  clay  blaming  the   silly  conduct  of  peo- 
ple about  me,  in   order  to   deter  those  I  conversed    with 
from  falling  into  the  like  errors  and  miscarriages.     Very 
well,    says   Rhadamanthus,  but   did   you  keep  the   same 
watchful  eye  over  your  own  actions  ?  Why  truly,  says 
she,  I  was  so  taken  up  with  publishing*  the  faults  of  others, 
that  I  had  no  time  to  consider  my -own. 

30.  Madam,  says  Rhadamantkits,  be  pleased  to  file  off 
to  the  left,  and  make  room  for  the  venerable  matron  that 
stands  behind  you.     Old  ;;entlewoman,  says  he,  I  think 
you  are  four  score  :   You  have  htarcl  the  question,  what 
have  you  been  doing  so  long  in  the  world  ?  Ah  !  sir,  says 
she,  I  have  been  doing  what  I  should  not  have  done,  but 
I  had  made  a  firm  resolution  to  have  changed  my  life,  if 
I  had  not  been  snatched  off  by  an  untimely  end. 

31.  Madam,  says   he,   you  wiM  please  to  follow  your 
leader,  and  spying  another  of  the  same  age,  interrogated 
her  in  the   same  form.     To  which  the  matron  replied,  I 
have  been  the  wife  of  a  husband  who  was  as  dear  to  me  in 


and  English  Teacher'1  s  ASSISTANT.  15 

his  old  age  as  in  his  youth.  I  have  been  a  mother,  and 
very  happy  in  my  children,  whom  I  endeavored  to  bring 
up  in  every  thing  that  is  good. 

32.  My  eldest  son  is  blest  by  the  poor,  and  beloved  by 
every  one  that  knows  him.     I  lived  within  my  own  fami- 
ly, and  left  it  much  more  wealthy  than  I  found  it. 

RhadamanthuSjVi\iQ  knew  the  value  of  the  old  lady,  smil- 
ed upon  her  in  such  a  manner,  that  the  keeper  of  Elysium^ 
who  knew  his  office,  reached  out  his  hand  to  her.  He  no 
sooner  touched  her  but  her  wrinkles  vanished,  her  eyes 
sparkled,  her  cheeks  glowed  with  blushes,  and  she  ap- 
peared in*  full  bloom  and  beauty. 

33.  A  young  woman  observing  that  this  officer,    who 
conducted  the  happy  to  Elysium,  was  GO  great  a  beautifier^ 
longed  to  be  in  his  hands,  so  that  pressing  through  the 
croud,  she  was  the  next  that  appeared  at  the  bur,  and  be- 
ing asked  what  she  had  been  doing  the  five  and  twenty- 
years  that  she  had  passed  in  the  world,  I  have  endeavor- 
ed, says  she,   ever  since  I  came  to  years  of  discretion,  to 
make  myself  lovely,  and  gain  admirers. 

34.  In  order  to  it  I  passed  my  time  in  bottling  up  May 
dew,  inventing  white-washes,  mixing  colors,  cutting  out 
patches,  consulting  my  glass,  suiting  my  complexion,  tear- 
ing off  my  tucker,  sinking  my  stays. — Phadamanthusr\\\\k- 
out  hearing  her  out,  gave  the  sign  to  take  her  off.     Upon 
the  approach  of  the  keeper  of  Erebus  her  color  faded,  her 
face  was  puckered  up  with  wrinkles,  and  her  whole  per- 
son lost  in  deformity. 

35.  I  was  then  surprised  with  a  distant  sound  of  a  whole 
troop  of  females  that  came  forward  laughing,  singing,  and 
dancing.     I  was  very  desirous  to  know  the  reception  they 
would  meet  with,  and  withal  was  very  apprehensive,  that 
Rhadamanthus  would  spoil  their  mirth  ;  but  at  their  nearer 
approach  the  noise  grew  so  very  great  that  it  awakened 
me. 

36.  Employ m ent  of  time  is  a  subject  that,  from  its  im- 
portance deserves  your  best  attention.     Most  young  gen- 
tlemen have  a  great  deal   of  time  before  them,   and  one 
hour  well  employed,  in  the  early  part  of  life,  is  more  val- 
uable and  will  be  of  greater  use  to  you,  than  perhaps  four 
and  twenty,  some  years  to  come. 

37.  Y7hatever  time  you  can  steal  from  company  and 


16         The  Young  Gentleman  and  Ladifs  MONITOR,. 

from  the  study  of  the  world  (I  say  company,  for  a  know- 
ledge of  life  is  best  learned  in  various  companies)  employ 
it  in  serious  reading.  Take  up  some  valuable  book,  and: 
continue  the  reading  of  that  book  till  yoti  have  got  through 
it ;  never  burden  your  mind  with  more  than  one  thing  at 
a  time  :  and  in  reading  this  book  don't  run  it  over  superfi- 
cially, but  read*'every  passage  twice  over,  at  least  do  not 
pass  on  to  a  second  till  you  thoroughly  understand  the 
first,  nor  quit  the  book  till  you  are  master  of  the  subject  ; 
for  unless  you  do  this,  you  may  read  it  through,  and  nor 
remember  the  contents  of  it  for  a  week. 

38.  The  books  I  would  particularly  recommend,  are 
Cardinal  Retzs  maxims^  Rochefaucault's  moral  reflections, 
JBmyere's  characters^    Pont  endless  plurality  of  worlds,   Sir 
Josiah  Child  on  trade,  Bolingbroke's  works  ;  for   style,  his 
remarks  on  the  history  cf  England,  under  the  name  of  Sir 
John  Oldcastle  ;  Puffcndorfs  Jus  Gentium,  and  Grotius 
t'e  Jure  Belli  ct  Pads  :  the  last  two  are  well  translated  by 
.Earbeyrac.     For  occasional  half  hours   or  less,    read  the 
best  works  of  invention,  wit  and  humor  ;  but  never  waste 
your  minutes  on  trifling  authors,  either  ancient  or  modern* 

39.  Any  business  you  may  have  to  transact,  should  be 
done  the  first  opportunity,  and  finished,  if  possible,  without 
interruption  :  for  by  deferring  it,  we  may  probably  finish  it 
too  late,  or  execute  it  indifferently.     Now,  business  of 
any  kind  should  never  be  done  by  halves,  but  every  part  of 
it  should  be  well  attended  to  :  for  he  that  does  business  ill, 
had  better  not  do  it  at  all.     And,  in  any  point  which  dis- 
cretion bids  you  pursue,  and  which  has  a  manifest  utility 
to  recommend  it,  let  not  difficulties  deter  you  ;  rather  let 
them  animate  your  industry.     If  one  method  fails,  try  a 
second  and  a  third.     Be  active,   persevere,  and  you  will 
certainly  conquer. 

40.  Never  indulge  a  lazy  disposition,  there  are  fet? 
things  but  are  attended  with  some  difficulties,  and  if  you 
are  frightened  at  those  difficulties,  you  will  not  complete 
itfiy  thing.     Indolent  minds  prefer  ignorance  to  trouble  ; 
'they  look  upon  most  things  as  impossible,  because  perhaps 
they  are  difficult.     Even  an  hour's  attention  is  too  labo- 
rious for  them,  and  they  would  rather  content  themselves 
\vith  the  first  view  of  things  than  take  the  trouble  to  look 
any  farther  into  them.     Thus,  when  they  come  to  talk 


and  English  Ttacher'x  ASSISTANT.  17 

upon  subjects  to  those  who  have  studied  them,  they  be- 
tray an  unpardonable  ignorance,  and  lay  themselves  open 
to  answers  that  confuse  them.  Be  careful  then,  that  you 
do  not  get  the  appellation  of  indolent ;  and,  if  possible, 
avoid  the  character  of  frivolous.  For, 

41.  The  frivolous  mind  is. busied  always  upon  nothing-. 
It  mistakes  trifling  objects  for  important  ones,  and  spends 
that  time  upon  little  matters,  that  should  only  be  bestowed 
upon  great  ones.  Knick-knacks,  butterflies,  shells,  and 
such  like,  engross  the  attention  of  the  frivolous  man,  and 
fill  up  all  his  time.  He  studies  the  dress  and  not  the 
characters  of  men,  and  his  subjects  of  conversation  arc 
no  other  than  the  weather,  his.  own  domestic  affairs,  ;liis» 
servants,  his  method  of  managing  his  family,  the  little 
anecdotes  of  the  neighborhood,  and  the  fiddle-faddle 
stories  of  the  day  ;  void  of  information,  void  of  improve- 
ment. These  he  relates  with  emphasis,  as  interesting 
matters  ;  in  short  he  is  a  male  gossip.  I  appeal  to  your 
own  feelings  now,  whether  such  things  do  not  lessen  a 
man  in  the  opinion  of  his  acquaintance,  and  instead  ef  at- 
tracting esteem,  create  disgust. 


Modestij. 

MODESTY  is  the  citadel  of  beauty  and  virtue, 
first  of  all  virtues  is  innocence ;  the  second  is  nice" 

1.  Modesty  is  both  in   its  source,    and  in  its  cc 
quence,  a  very  great  happiness  to  the  fair  possessor  of  it  ; 
it  arises  from  a  fear  of  dishonor,  and  a  good  conscience? 
and  is  followed  immediately,  upon  its  first  appearance, 
with  the  reward  of  honor  and  esteem,  paid  by  dl  those 
who  discover  it  in  any  body  living. 

2.  It  is  indeed,  a  virtue  in  a  woman  (tha;: 
-wise  be  very  disagreeable  to  one)  so  exquisite; 

that  it  excites  in  any  beholder,  of  a  generous  and  manly 
disposition,  almost  all  the  passions,  that  he  would  be  apt 
to  conceive  for  the  mistress  of  his  heart,  in  variety  oi" 
circumstances. 

3.  A  woman  that  is   modest   creates  in  us  an  awe  in 
her  company,    a  wish   for  her  welfare,  a  joy  in  her  being 
actually  happy,  a  sore  and  painful  sorrow  if  distress  should 

13  2 


18        The  Yctmg  Gentfeman  and  Ladifs  MONITOR, 

come  upon  her,  with  a  ready  and  willing-  heart  to  give  her 
consolation,  and  a  compassionate  temper  towards  her,. 
in  every  little  accident  of  life  she  undergoes  ;  and,  to- 
sum  up  all  in  one  word,  it  causes  such  a  kind  of  angelical 
love,  even  to  a  stranger,  as  good  natured  brothers  and 
sisters  usually  bear  towards  one  another. 

4.  It  adds  wonderfully  to  the  make  of  a  face,  and  I 
have  seen  a  pretty  well  turned  forehead,  fine  set  eyes, 
and  what  your  poets  call  a  row  of  pearl   set  in  coral, 
shown  by  a  pretty  expansion  of  two  velvet  lips  that  cover- 
ed them  (that  would  have  tempted  any  sober  man  living  of 
tny  own  age,  to  have   been  a  little  loose  in  his  thoughts, 
and  to  have  enjoyed  a  painful  pleasure  amidst  his  impo- 
tency)  lose  all  their  virtue,  all  their  force  and  efficacy,  by 
having  an  ugly  cast  of  boldness  very  discernibly  spread  out 
at  large  over  all  those  alluring  features. 

5.  At  the  same  time  modesty  will  fill  up  the  wrinkles 
of  old  age  with  glory  ;  make  sixty  blush  itself  into  sixteen  ; 
and  help  a  green-sick  girl  to  defeat  the  satyr  of  a  false 
waggish  lover;,  who  might  compare  her  color,  when  she 
looked  like  a  ghost,  to  the  blowing  of  the  rose-bud,  by 
blushing  herself  into  a  bloom  of  beauty  ;  and  might  make 
what  he  meant  a  reflection,  a  real  compliment  at  any  hour 
of  the  day,  in  spite  of  his  teeth.     It  has  a  prevailing  power 
with  me,  whenever  I  find  it  in  the  sex. 

6.  I  who  have  the  common  fault  of  old  men,  to  be 
very  sour  and  humorsome,  when  I  drink  my  water-gruel 
in  a  morning,  fell  into  a  more  than  ordinary  pet  with  a 
maid,  whom  T  call  my  nurse,  from  a  constant  tenderness, 
that  I  have  observed  her  to  exercise  towards  me  beyond 
all  my  other  servants  ;  I  perceived  her  flush  and  glow  in 
the  face,  in  a  manner  which  I  could  plainly  discern  pro- 
ceeded  not  from  anger  or  resentment  of  correction,  but 
from  a  good  natured  regret,  upon  a  fear  that  she  had  of- 
fended her  grave  old  master. 

7.  I  was  "so  heartily  pleased,  that  I  eased  her  of  the 
honest  trouble  she  underwent  inwardly  for  my  sake  ;  and 
giving  her  half  a  crown,  I  told  her  it  was  a  forfeit  due  to 
her  because  I  was  out  of  humor  with  her  without  any 
reason  at  all.     And  as  she  is  so  gentle  hearted,  I  have 
diligently  avoided  giving  her  one  harsh  word  ever  since  ; 
and  I  find  my  o^vn  reward  in  it :  for  not  being  so  testy  at 


&xd  Eng luh  Teacher1*  ASSISTANT.  IS 

\  used,  has  made  me  much  haler  and  stronger  than  I  was 
before. 

8.  The  pretty,  and  witty,  and  virtuous-  Simfilida^-  was, 
the  other  day,   visiting  with  an  old  aunt  of  her's,  that    I 
verily  believe  has  read  the  Atalantis  ;  she  took  a  'story 
out  there,  and  dressed  up  an  old  honest  neighbor  in  the 
second-hand  clothes  of  scandal.     The  young  creature  hid 
her  face  with  her  fan  at  every  burst  and  peal-  of  laughter, 
and  blushed  for  her  guilty  parent  ;  by  which  she  atoned, 
methought,  for  every  scandal  that  ran  round  the  beautiful' 
circle. 

9.  As  I  was  going  home  to  bed  that  evening,    I  could 
not  help   thinking  of  her  all  the  way  I  went.     I  repre- 
sented her  to  myself  as  shedding  holy    blood  every  time 
she  blushed,  and  as  being  a  martyr  in  the  cause  of  virtue. 
And  afterwards,   when  I  was  putting  on  my  night-cap,  I 
could  not  drive  the  thought  out  of  my  head,  but  that  I 
was  young  enough  to  be  married  to  her  ;  and    that  it 
would  be  an  addition  to  the  reputation  I  have  in  the  study 
of  wisdom,  to  marry  to  so  much  youth  and  modesty,  even 
in  my  old  age. 

10.  I  know  there  have  not  been  wanting  many  wicked 
objections  against  this  virtue  ;  one  is  grown  insufferably 
common.     The  fellow  blushes,  he   is    guilty.     I  should 
say  rather,   He  blushes,  therefere  he  is  innocent.     I  be- 
lieve the  same  man,  that  first  had  that  wicked  imagin- 
ation of  a  blush  being   the   sign   of  guilt,    represented 
good-nature  to  be  folly  ;  and  that  he  himself,   was  the 
most  inhuman  and  impudent  wretch  alive. 

11.  The  author   of  Ca(o,  who  is  known  to  be  one  of 
the  most  modest,  and  most   ingenious  persons  of  the  age 
we  now  live  in,   has  given  this   virtue  a  delicate  name 
in  the  tragedy  of  Cato,  where  the   character  of  Marcia  is 
first  opened  to  us.     I  would  have  all  ladies  who  have  a 
mind  to  be  thought   well-bred,  to  think  seriously  on  this 
virtue,  which  he  so  beautifully  calls  the  sanctity  of  man- 
ners. 

12.  Modesty  is  a  polite  accomplishment,  and  generally 
an  attendant  upon  merit.     It  is  engaging  to  the  highest 
degree,  and  wins  the  hearts  of  all  our  acquaintance.     On 
the  contrary,   none  are  more   disgustful  in  company  than 
the  impudent  and  presuming;. 


20       Ths  Young-  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

The  man  who 'is,  on  all  occasions,  commending  and 
speaking*  well  of  himself,  we  naturally  dislike.  On  the 
other  hand,  he  who  studies  to  conceal  his  own  deserts, 
who  does  justice  to  the  merit  of  others,  who  talks  but  lit* 
tie  of  himself,  and  that  with  modesty,  makes  a  favorable 
impression  on  the  persons  he  Ts  conversing  with,  captivates 
their  minds,  and  gains  their  esteem. 

13.  Modesty,  however,  widely  differs  from  an  .-awkward 
bashfulness,  which  is  as  much  to  be  condemned  as  the 
other  is  to  be  applauded.     To  appear  simple  is  as  ill-bred 
as  to  be  impudent.     A  young  man  ought  to  be   able  to 
come  into  a  room  and  address  the  company  without  the 
least  embarrassment.     To  be  out  of  countenance  when 
spoken  to,  and  not  to  have  an  answer  ready,  is  ridiculous 
to  the  last  degree. 

14.  An  aukward  country   fellow,  when  he  comes  into 
company  better  than  himself,  is  exceedingly  disconcerted. 
He  knows  not  what  to  do  with  his  hands  or  his  hat,  but 
either  puts  one  of  them  in  his  pocket,  and  dangles  the 
ether  by  his  side. ;  or  perhaps  twirls  his  hat  on  his  fingers, 
or  fumbles  with  the  button.     If  spoken  to  he  is  in  a  much 
worse  situation  ;  he  answers  with  the  utmost  difficulty,  and 
nearly  stammers  ;  whereas  a  gentleman,  who  is  acquainted 
•with  life,    enters  a  room  with  gracefulness  and  a  modest 
assurance,  addresses  even  persons  he  does  not  know,  in  an 
easy  and  natural  manner,  and  without  the  least  embarrass- 
ment. 

15.  This  is  the  characteristic  of  good-breeding,  a  very 
necessary  knowledge  in  our  intercourse  with  men  :  for 
one  of  inferior  parts,  with  the  behavior  of  a  gentleman,, 
is  frequently  better  received   than  a  man  of  sense,   with  - 
the  address  and  manners  of  a  clown.     Ignorance  and  vice 
are  the  only  things  we  need  be  ashamed  of;   steev  slear  of 
these,  and  you  may  go  into  any    company  you  will :  not 
that  I  would   have  a  young  man   throw  off  all  dread  of 
appearing  abroad,   as"  a  fear  of  offending,  or  being  discs- 
teemed,  will  make  him  preserve  a  proper  decorum. 

1.6.  Some  persons,  from  experiencing  of  false  modesty, 
have  run  into  the  other  extreme,  and  acquired  the  charac- 
ter of  impudent.  This  is  as  great  a  fault  as  the  other. 
A  well-bred  man  keeps  himself  within  the  two,  and  steers 
the  middle  way.  lie  is  easy  and  firm  in  every  company  ; 


&nd  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  21 

is  modest,  but  not  bashful ;  steady,  but  not  impudent-  He 
copies  the  manners  of  the  better  people,  and  conforms  to 
their  customs  with  ease  and  attention. 

17.  Till  \ve  can  present  ourselves  in  all  companies  with 
coolness  and  unconcern,  we  can  never  present  ourselves 
\vell  ;  nor  will  a  man  ever  be  supposed  to  have  kept  good 
company,  or  ever  be   acceptable   in  such  company,  if  he 
cannot  appear  there  easy  and  unembarrassed.     A  modest 
assurance,  in  every  part  of  life,  is  the  most  advantageous 
qualification  we  can  possibly  acquire. 

18.  Instead  of  becoming  insolent,  a  man  of  sense,  un- 
der a  consciousness  of  merit,  is  more  modest.     He  be- 
haves himself  indeed  with  firmness,  but  without  the  least 
presumption.     The  man  who  is  ignorant  of  his  own  mer- 
it, is  no  less  a  fool  than  he  who  is  constantly  displaying  it. 
A  man  of  understanding  avails  himself  of  his   abilities, 
but  never  boasts  of  them  \  whereas  the  timid  and  bashful 
can  never  push  himself  in  life,  be  his  merit  as  great  as  it 
will  ;  he  will  be  always   kept  behind  by  the  forward  and 
the  bustling. 

19.  A  man  of  abilities,  ai>d  acquainted  with  life,  will 
stand  as  firm  in  defence  of  his  own  rights,  and  pursue  his 
plans  as  steadily  and  unmoved  as  the  most  impudent  man 
alive  ;  but  then  he  does  it  with  a  seeming  modesty.  Thus, 
manner  is  every  thing  ;  what  is  impudence  in  one  is  prop- 
er assurance  only  in  another  ;  for  firmness  is  commenda- 
ble, but  an  overbearing  conduct  is  disgustful. 

20.  Forwardness   being   the  very  reverse  of  modesty, 
follow  rather  than  lead  the  company  ;  that  is5  join  in  dis- 
course upon  their  subjects  rather  than  start  one  of  your 
own  ;  if  yon     have  parts,  you  will  have     opportunities 
enough  of  showing  them  on  every  topic  of  conversation* 
and  if  you  have  none,  it  is  better  to  expose  yourself  upon 
a  subject  of  other  people's,  than  one  of  yctir  own. 

21.  But  be  particularly   careful  not  to  speak  of  your- 
self if  you  can  help  it.     An  impudent  fellow  lugs  in  him- 
self abruptly  upon  all  occasions,   and  is  ever  the  hero  of 
his  own   story.     Others  will  color  their  arrogance  with, 
"  It  may  seem  strange    indeed,  that    I  should  talk  in  this 
"  manner  of  myself  ;  it  is  what  I  by  no  means  like,  and 
"  should  never  do,  if  I  had  not  been  cruelly  and  unjustly 
•'*  accused  ;  but  when  my  character  is  attacked   it  is  a 


22         The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

"  justice  I  owe  to  myself  to  defend  it."     This  veil  is  too' 
thin  not  to  be  seen  through  on  the  first  inspection. 

22.  Others  again,  with    more  art,   will  modestly  boast 
of  all  the    principal    virtues,    by    calling   these  virtues 
weaknesses,  and  saying,  they  are  so  unfortunate  as  to 
fall  into  those  weaknesses.     "  I  cannot  see  persons  suffer," 
says  one  of  this  cast,  "  without  relieving  them  ;  though 
"  my  circumstances  are  very  unable  to  afford  it — I  cannot 
"  avoid  speaking  truth  ;  though  it  is  often  very  impru- 
dent ;"  and  so  on. 

23.  This  angling  for  praise  is  so  prevailing  a  principle, 
that  it  frequently  stoops  to  the  lowest  object.     Men  will 
often  boast  of  doing  that,  which  if  true,  would  be  rather 
a  disgrace  to  them  than  otherwise.     One  man  affirms  that 
he  rode  twenty  miles  within  the  hour  :   'tis  probably  a  lie  j 
but  suppose  he  did,  what  then  ?  He    had    a   good  horse 
under  him,  and  is  a  good  jockey.     Another   swears  he 
has  often  at  a  sitting,  drank  five  or  six   bottles  to  his  own 
share.     Out  of  respect  to  him,  I  .will  believe  him  a  liar  , 
for  I  would  not  wish  to  think  him  a  beast. 

24.  These  and  many  more  are  the  follies  of  idle  people, 
which,  while  they  think  they   procure  them  esteem,  in 
reality  make  them  despised. 

To  avoid  this  contempt,  therefore,  never  speak  of 
yourself  at  all,  unless  necessity  obliges  you  ;  and  even 
then  take  care  to  do  it  in  such  a  manner,  that  it  may 
not  be  construed  into  fishing  for  applause.  \  Whatever 
perfections  you  may  have,  be  assured,  people  will  find 
them  out ;  but  whether  they  do  or  not,  nobody  will  take 
them  upon  your  own  word.  The  less  you  say  of  yourself 
the  more  the  world  will  give  you  credit  for  ;  and  the 
more  you  say,  the  less  they  will  believe  you* 


Affectation. 

1.  /\  LATE  conversation  which  I  fell  into,  gave  me 
jfJL  an  opportunity  of  observing  a  great  deal  of  beauty 
in  a  very  handsome  woman,  and  as  much  wit  in  an  in- 
genious man,  turned  into  deformity  in  the  one,  and 
absurdity  in  the  other,  by  the -mere  force  of  affectation. 
The  fair  one  had  something  in  her  person  upon  which 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  2S 

her  thoughts  were  fixed,  that  she  attempted  to  show  to  ad- 
vantage in  every  look,  word  or  jesture. 

2.  The  gentleman  was  as  diligent  to  do  justice  to   his 
fine  parts,  as  the  lady  to  her  beauteous  form  :  you  might 
see  his  imagination  on  the  stretch  to  find  out  something 
uncommon,  and  what  they  call  bright,  to  entertain  her  ; 
while  she  writhed  herself  into  as  many  different  postures 
to  engage  him.    When  she  laughed,  her  lips  were  to  sever 
at  a  greater  distance  than  ordinary  to  show  her  teeth. 

3.  Her  fan  was  to  point  at  somewhat  at  a  distance,  that 
in  the  reach  she  may  discover  the  roundness  of  her  arm  ; 
then  she  is  utterly  mistaken  in  what  she  saw,   f^tlls  back, 
smiles  at  her  own  folly,    and  is  so  wholly  discomposed, 
that  her  tucker  is  to  be  adjusted,  ker  bosom   exposed,  and 
the  whole  woman  put  into  new  airs  and  graces. 

4.  While  she  was  doing  all  this,  the  gallant  had  time 
to  think   of  something  very  pleasant  to  say  next  to  her, 
or  make  some  unkind  observation  on  some  other  lady  to 
feed    her   vanity.      These  unhappy   effects  of  affectation 
naturally   led  me  to  look  into  that   strange  state  of  mind, 
which  so  generally  discolors  tfye  behavior  of  most  people 
we  meet  with. 

5.  The  learned  Dr.  Burnet,  in  his  Theory  of  the  Earth, 
takes  occasion  to  observe,  that  every  thought  is  attended 
with  consciousness  and  representativeness  ;  the  mind  has 
nothing  presented  to  it,  but  what  is  immediately  followed 
by  a  reflection  of  conscience,  which  tells  you  whether  that 
which  was  so  presented  is  graceful  or  unbecoming*. 

6.  This  act  of  the  mind  discovers  itself  in  the   gesture, 
by  a  proper  behavior  in  those  whose  consciousness  goes  no 
farther  than  to  direct  them  in  the   just  progress  of  their 
present  thought  or  action  ;  but  betrays  an  interruption  in 
every  second  thought,  when  the  consciousness  is  employed 
in  too  fondly  approving  a  man's  own  conceptions  ;  which 
sort  of  consciousness  is  what  wre  call  affectation. 

7.  As  the  love  of  praise  is  implanted  in  our  bosoms  as 
a  strong  incentive  to  worthy  actions,  it  is  a  very  difficult 
task  to  get  above  a  desire  of  it  for  things  that  should  be 
wholly  indifferent.     Women,  whose  hearts  are  fixed  upon 
the  pleasure  they  have  in  the  consciousness  that  they  are 
the  objects  of  love  and  admiration,  are  ever  changing  the 
air  of  their  countenances,    and   altering1  the  attitude  of 


2  4         The  Young  Gentlan&n  and  Lady  '$  M.Q  N.I  T  o R  , 

their  bodies,  to  strike  the  hearts  of  their  beholders  with  a 
new  sense  of  their  beauty. 

8.  The  dressing  part  of  our  sex,  whose  minds  are  the 
same  with  the  sillier  part  of  the  other,  are  exactly  in  the 
like  uneasy  condition  to  be  regarded  for  a  well  tied  cravat, 
an  hat  cocked  with  an  unusual  briskness,  a  very  well  chosen 
coat,  or  other  instances  of  merit,  which  they  are  impatient 
to  see  unobserved. 

9.  But  this    apparent   affectation,   arising   from  an  ill 
governed  consciousness,  is  not  so  much  to  be  wondered  at 
in  such  loose  and  tivial  minds  as  these.     But  when  you 
see  it  reign  in  characters  of  worth   and  distinction,  it  is 
what  you  cannot   but  lament,  not  without  some  indigna- 
tion.    It  creeps  into  the  heart  of  the  wise  man,  as  well  as 
that  of  a  coxcomb. 

10.  When  you  see  a  man  of  sense  look  about  for  ap- 
plause,  and   discover  an  itching  inclination   to  be  com- 
mended ;  lay  traps  for  a  little  incense,  even  from  those 
whose  opinion  he  values  in  nothing  but  his  own  favor  ; 
vrho  is  safe  against  this  wakness  ?  or  who  knows  whether 
he  is  guilty  of  it   or  not  ?  The  best  way  to  get  clear  of 
such  a  light  fondness  for  applause,  is,  to  take  all  possible 
care  to  throw  off  the  love  of  it  upon  occasions  that  are 
not  in  themselves  laudable  ;  but,  as  it  appears,  we   hope 
for  no  praise  from  them. 

11.  Of  this  nature  are  all  graces  in  men's  persons,  dress, 
and  bodily  deportment  ;  which  will  naturally  be  winning 
and  attractive  if  we  think  not  of  them,  but  lose  their 
force  in  proportion  to  our  endeavor  to  make  them  such. 

When  our  consciousness  turns  upon  the  main  design  of 
life,  and  our  thoughts  are  employed  upon  the  chief  pur- 
pose either  in  business  or  pleasure,  we  should  never  betray 
an  affectation,  for  we  cannot  be  guilty  of  it,  but  when  we 
give  the  passion  for  praise  an  unbridled  liberty,  our  plea- 
sure in  little  perfections  robs  us  of  what  is  due  to  us  for 
great  virtues  and  worthy  qualities. 

12.  How  many  excellent  speeches  and  honest  actions 
are  lost,  for  want  of  being  indifferent  where  we  ought  ! 
Men  are  oppressed  with  regard  to  their  way  of  speaking 
and  acting,  instead  of  having  their  thoughts   bent  upon 
what  they  should  do  or  say  ;  and  by  that  means  bury  a 
capacity  for  great  things,  by  their  fear  of  failing  in  indif- 


•and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  25 

ft  rent  things.  This,  perhaps,  cannot  be  called  affecta- 
tion ;  but  it  has  some  tincture  of  it,  at  least  so  far,  as  that 
their  fear  of  erring  in  a  thing  of  no  consequence  argues 
they  would  be  too  much  pleased  in  performing  it. 

13.  It  is  only  from  a  thorough  disregard  to  himself  in 
such  particulars,  that  a  man  can  act  with  a  laudable  suf- 
ikiency  ;  his  heart  is  fixed  upon  one  point  in  view  ;  and 
he  commits  no  errors,  because  he  thinks  nothing  an  error 
but  what  deviates  from  that  intention. 

The  wild  havoc  affectation  makes  in  that  part  of  the 
world  which  should  be  most  polite,  is  visible  wherever 
we  turn  our  eyes  :  it  pushes  men  not  only  into  imperti- 
nences in  conversation,  but  also  in  their  premeditated 
speeches. 

14.  At  the  bar  it  torments  the  bench,  whose  business 
it  is  to  cut  off  all  superfluities  in  what  is  spoken  before  it 
by  the  practitioner  ;  as  well  as  several  little  pieces  of  injus- 
tice which  arise  from  the  law  itself.     I  have  seen  it  make 
a  man  run    from  the  purpose  before   a  judge,  who  was, 
when  at   the  bar  himself,  so  close  and  logical  a  pleader, 
that  with  all  the  pomp  of  eloquence  in  his  power,  he  never 
spoke  a  word  too  much. 

15.  It  might  be  borne  even  here,  but  it   often  ascends 
the  pulpit  itself  ;  and  the  declaimer,    in  that  sacred  place, 
is  frequently  so  impertinently  witty,  speaks  of  the  last  day 
itself  with  so  many  quaint  phrases,  that  there  is  no  man 
who  understands  raillery,  but  must  resolve  to  sin  no  more  : 
nay,   you  may   behold  him    sometimes  in    prayer,  for   a. 
proper  delivery  of  the  great  truths  he  is  to  utter,  humble 
himself  with  so  very  well  turned  phrase,  and  mention  his 
own  unworthiness  in  a  way  so  very  becoming,  that  the 
air  of  the  pretty  gentleman  is  preserved,  under  the  low- 
liness of  the  preacher. 

*  6,  I  shall  end  this  with  a  short  letter  I  wrote  the  other 
day  to  a  very  witty  man,  over-run   with  the  fault  I  am 
speaking  of. 

*  DEAR  SIR, 

]{  Spent  some  time  with  you  the  other  day,  and  must 
*  JL  take  the  liberty  of  a  friend  to  tell  you  of  the  insuffer- 
<  able  affectation  you  are  guilty  of  in  all  you  say  and  do. 

17.  *  When  I  gave  you  a  hint  of  it,  you  asked  me  wheth- 
er a  man  is  to  be  cold  to  what  his  friends  think  of  him  •? 
C 


26        The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 
No,  but   praise  is  not  to  be  the  entertainment  of  everv 


*  praise  worthy,  contemn  little  merits  ;  and  allow  no  man 


4  to  be  so  free  with  you,  as  to  praise  you  to  your  face. 

18.  4  Your  vanity  by  this  means  will  want  its  food.  At 
c  the  same  time  your  passion  for  esteem  will  be  more 
'  fully  gratified  ;  men  will  praise  you  in  their  actions  : 

<  where  you  now  receive   one  compliment  you  will  then 

<  receive  twenty  civilities.     Till  then  you  will  never  have 
'  of  either,  further  than, 

SIR, 

'  Your  humble  servant.' 

SPECTATOR,  Vol.  I.  NO.  33. 

19.  "X.TATURE  does  nothing  in  vain  ;  the  Creator  of 
JL/N  the  universe  has  appointed  every  thing  to  a 
certain  use  and  purpose,  and  determined  it  to  a  settled 
course  and  sphere  of  action,  from  which,  if  it  in  the  least 
deviates,  it  becomes  unfit  to  answer  those  ends  for  which 
it  was  designed. 

20.  In  like  manner  it  is  in  the  dispositions  of  society  ; 
the    civil  ceconomy  is  formed  in  a  chain  as  well  as  the 
natural  ;  and  in  either  case  the    breach  but  of  one  link 
puts  the  whole  in  some  disorder.     It  is,  I  think,   pretty 
plain,  that  most  of  the  absurdity  and   ridicule  we   meet 
with  in  the  world,  is  generally  owing  to  the  impertinent 
affectation  of  excelling  in  characters  men  are  not  fit  for, 
and  for  which  nature  never  designed  them. 

21.  Everyman   has  one  or  more  qualities  which  may 
make    him  useful  both  to  himself  and   others  :  Nature 
never   fails  of  pointing  them   out,  and  while  the   infant 
continues  under  her  guardianship,  she  brings  him  on  in 
his  way,  and  then  offers  herself  for  a  guide  in   what  re- 
mains of  the  journey  ;  if  he  proceeds  in  that  course,  he 
can  hardly  miscarry  :  Nature  makes    good  her  engage- 
ments ;  for  as  she  never  promises  what  she  is  not  able  to 
perform,    so   she    never  fails  of   performing   what  she 
promises, 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  27 

22.  But  the  misfortune  is,  men  despise  \vhat  they  may 
be  masters  of,  and  affect  what  they  are  not  fit  for  ;  they 
reckon  themselves  already  possessed  of  what  their  genius 
inclines  them  to,  and  so  bend  all  their  ambition  to  excel 
'in  what  is  out  of  their  reach  :  thus  they  destroy  the  use 
of  their  natural  talents,  in  the  same  manner  as  covetous 
men  do  their  quiet  and  repose  ;  they  can  enjoy  no  satis- 
faction in  what  they  have,  because  of  the  absurd  inclina- 
tion they  are  possessed  with  for  what  they  have  not. 

23.  Clcanthes  had  good  sense,  a  great  memory,  and  a 
constitution  capable  of  the  closest  application  :  in  a  word, 
there   was  no  profession  in   which   Cleanthes  might   not 
have  made  a  very  good  figure  ;  but  this  won't   satisfy 
him  ;  he  takes  up  an  unaccountable  fondness  for  the  char- 
acter of  a  fine  gentleman  ;  all  his  thoughts  are  bent  upon 
this,  instead  of  attending  a  dissection,  frequenting  the 
courts  of  justice,  or  studying  the  fathers. 

24.  Clcanthes  reads  plays,  dances,  dresses,  and   spends 
his  time  in  drawing-rooms,  instead  of  being  a  good  lav/- 
ye r,  divine,  or  physician  ;   Clcanthes  is  a  downright  cox- 
comb, and  will  remain  to  all  that  knew  him  a  contempti- 
ble example  of  talents  misapplied.     It  is  to  this  affecta- 
tion the  world  owes  its  whole  race  of  coxcombs  :  Nature 
in  her  whole  drama  never  drew  such  a  part  ;  she  has 
sometimes    made   a  fool,  but  a  coxcomb  is   always  of  a 
man's  own  making,  by    applying  his  talents  otherwise 
than  nature  designed,  who  ever  bears  an  high  resentment 
for  being  put  out  of  her  course,  and  never  fails  of  taking 
revenge  on  those  that  do  so. 

25.  Opposing   her    tendency  in    the  application  of  a 
man's  parts,  has  the  same  success  as  declining  from  her 
course  in  the  production  of  vegetables  :  by  the  assistance 
of  art  and  a  hot  bed,  we  may  possibly  extort  an  unwilling 
plant,  or  an  untimely  sallad  :  but  how  weak,  how  tasteless^ 
and  insipid  ?  Just  as  insipid  as  the  poetry  of  Valeria. 

26.  Valeria  had  an    universal  character,   was  genteelj 
had  learning,  thought  justly,  spoke  correctly  ;  'twas  be- 
lieved there  was  nothing  in  which    Valeria  did  not  excel  ; 
and  'twas  so  far  true,  that  there  was  but  one  :    Valeria  had 
no  genius  fjr  poetry?  yet  was  resolved  to  be  a  poet  :  he 
write*  versus,  and  takes  great  pains  to  convince  the  town, 
that  Valerio  is  not  that  extraordinary  person  he  was  taken 
for* 


The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

27.  If  men  would  be  content  to  graft  upon  nature, 
assist  her  operations,  what  mighty  effects  might  we  ex- 
pect ?    Tully  would  not  stand  so  much   alone  in   oratory, 
Virgil  in  poetry,  or  Cesar  in  war.     To  build  upon  nature, 
is  laying   the    foundation  upon  a  rock  ;  every  thing  dis 
poses  itself  into  order  as  it  were  of  course,  and  the  whcl 
work  is  half  done  as  soon  as  undertaken.     Cicero's  genius 
inclined   him    to   oratory,   Virgil's  to   follow  the  train  of 
the  muses  ;  they  piously  obeyed  the  admonition?  and  were 
rewarded. 

28.  Had  Virgil  attended  the  bar,  his  modest  and  in- 
genious virtue  would  surely  have  made  but  a  very  indif- 
ferent figure  ;  and   Tully' s  declamatory  inclination  would 
have  been  as  useless  in  poetry.     Nature,  if  left  to  herself, 
leads  us  on  in  the  best  course,  but  will  do  nothing  by  com- 
pulsion and   constraint  ;   and  if  we  are  not  satisfied  to  go 
her  way,  we  are  always  the  greatest  sufferers  by  it. 

29.  Whenever  nature  designs  a  production,  she  always 
disposes  seeds  proper  for  it,  which  are  as  absolutely  ne- 
cessary to  the  formation  of  any  moral  or  intellectual  exist- 
ence, as  they  are  to  the  being  and  growth  of  plants  ;   and 
I  know  not  by  what    fate  and  foliy  it  is,    that    men  are 
taught  not  to  reckon  him  equally  absurd  that  will  write 
verses  in  spite  of  nature,  with  that  gardener  that  should 
undertake  to  raise  a  jonquil  or  tulip,  without  the  help  of 
their  respective  seeds. 

30.  As  there    is  no  good  or  bad  quality  that  does  not 
affect  both  sexes,  so  it  is  not  to  be  imagined  but  the  fair 
sex  must  have  suffered  by  an  affectation  of  this  nature,  at 
least  as  much  as  the  other  ;  the  ill  effect  of  it  is  in  none  so 
conspicuous  as  in  the  two  opposite  characters  of  Celia  and 
Iras  ;  Celia  has  all  the  charms  of  person,  together  with  an 
abundant  sweetness  of  nature,  but  wants  wit,  and  has  a 
very  ill  voice  ;  Iras  is  ugly  and  ungenteelj  but  has  wit  and 
good  sense. 

31.  If  Celia  would  be  silent,  her  beholders  would  adore 
her  ;  if  Iras  would  talk,  her   hearers  would  admire  her  ; 
but  Celia' $  tongue  runs  incessantly,  while  Iras  gives  her- 
self silent  airs  and   soft  languors  ;  so  that  it  is  difficult  to 
persuade  one's  self  that  Cdia  has  beauty,   and  Iras  wit  ; 
each  neglects  her  own  excellence,  and  is  ambitious  of  the 


znd  English  Teacher's  ASSUTAN.T.  -9 

<H)iet-''s  character  ;  Iras  would  be  thought  to  have  as  much 
beauty  as  O/zVz,  and  Celia.as  much,  wit  as  Iras. 

32.  The    great  misfortune  of  this   affectation    ir>,  thrt 
men  not  only  lose  a  good  quality,  but  also  contract  a  bad 
one  ;  they  not  only  are  unfit  for  what  they- were  designed, 
but  they  assign  themselves  to  what  they  are  no*  fit  for  ; 
^nd  instead  of  making  a  very  good  figure  one  way,  make 
a  very  ridiculous  one  another. 

33.  If  Semanthe  would  have  been  satisfied  with"  her  na- 
tural complexion,  she  might  still  have- been  celebrated  fey 
the  name  of  the  olive  beauty  ;  but -  Se-mant-he  has  taken- up 
an  ?.3Vctation  to  white  and  red,  and  is  now  distinguished 
by  the  character  of  the  lady  that  paints  so  welK 

34.  In  a  word,  could  the  world  be  reformed  to  the  i 
dience   of  that  famed  dictate,  Follow  xatu re,  whk'h    the 
oracle  of  Ddphos  pronounced  to  Cicero  when  he  consulted' 
what  course  of  studies  he  should  pursue,  we  should  r-/ 
most  every  man  as  eminent  in  his  proper  sphere  as  Tully 
was  in  his,  and  should  in  a  very  short  time  find   imperti- 
nence and  affectation  banished  from  among  the  women, 
and  coxcombs  and  false  characters  from  among  the  men* 

35.  For  my  part,  I  could  never  consider  tliSs  prepos- 
terous repugnancy  to  nature  any  otherwise,  tlum  not  only 
as  the  greatest   folly,  but  also  one  of  the  most  heinous 
crimes,  since  it  is  a  direct  opposition  to  the  disposition  of 
providence,  and  (as  Tully  expresses  it)  like  the  sin  of  the 
giants,  an  actual  rebellion  against  heaven. 

SPECTATOR,  Vol.  VI,  NO.  404* 


Good  Humor  and  Nature* 

A  MAN  advanced  in  years  that  thinks  fit  to  look 
back  upon  his  former  life,  and  calls  that  only  life 
which  was  passed  with  satisfaction  and  enjoyment,  exclud- 
ing all  parts  which  were  not  pleasant  to  him,  will  find 
himself  very  young,  if  not  in  his  infancy.  Sickness,  ill- 
humor,  and  idleness,  will  have  robbed  him  of  a  great  share 
of  that  space  we  ordinarily  call  our  life. 

2.  Ii  is  therefore  the  duty  of  every  man  that  would  be 
true  to  himself,  to  obtain,  if  possible,  a  disposition  to  h? 
C2 


30        The  Yvung  Gentleman  find  Lady's 

pleased,  and  place  himself  in  a  constant  aptitude  for  the 
satisfactions  of  his  being.  Instead  of  this,  you  hardly  see 
a  man  who  is  not  uneasy  in  proportion  to  his  advancement 
in  the  arts  of  life. 

3.  An  affected  delicacy  is  the  common  improvement 
we  meet  with  in  those  who  pretend  to  be  refined  above 
others  :  they  do  net  aim  at  true  pleasure  themselves,  but 
turn  their  thoughts  upon  observing  the  false  pleasures 
of  other  men.    Such  people  are  valetudinarians  in  society, 
and  they  should  no  more  come  into  company  than  a  sick 
man  should  come  into  the  air. 

4.  If  a  man  is  too  weak  to  bear  what  is  a  refreshment 
to  men  in  health,  he  must  still  keep  his  chamber.     When 
^ny  one  in  Sir  Roger's  company  complains  he  is  out  of 
order,  he  immediately  calls  for  some  posset  drink  for  him  ; 
for  which  reason  that  sort  of  people,  who  are  ever  bewail- 
ing their  constitutions  in  other  places,  are  the  cheerfulest 
imaginable  when  he  is  present. 

5.  It  is  a  wonderful  thing  that  so  many,  and  they  not 
reckoned  absurd,  shall  entertain  those   with  whom  they 
converse,  by  giving  them  the  history  of  their  pains  and 
aches  ;  and  imagine  such  narrations  their  quota  of  the 

conversation.     This  is  of  all   other  the  meanest  help  to 

iiscourse,  and  a  man  must  not  think  at  all,  or  think  him- 

•  ielf  very  insignificant,  when   he  finds  an  account  of  his 

head  aeh,e  answered  by  another  asking,  what  news  in  the 

Jast  mail  ? 

6.  Mutual  good  humor  is  a  dreas  we  ought  to- appear- 
in  wherever  we  meet,  and  we  should  make  no  mention 
of  what  concerns   ourselves,   without  it  be    of  matters 
wherein  our  friends  ought  to  rejoice  :  but  indeed  there 
are  crowds  of  people  who  put  themselves  in  no  method 
of  pleasing  themselves  or  others  ;  such  are  those  whom 
v/e  usually  call  indolent  persons. 

7.  Indolence  is,  methinks,  an  intermediate  state  between 
pleasure  and  pain,   and  very  much  unbecoming  any  part 

ir  life  after  we  are  out  of  the  nurse's  arms.     Such  an 
•3ion  to  labor  creates  a  constant  weariness,  and  one 
•.vciud  think  should  make  existence  itself  a  burden. 

8.  The  indolent  man  descends  -from   the   dignity    of 
his  nature,  and   makes  that  being   v/hich   was    rational, 
merely  vegetative;  his   life  consists  only  in  the  mere 


ngtitih  Teacher's  Ass i STAN T«  3 1 

increase  and  decay  of  a  body,  which  with  relation  to  the 
rest  of  the  world,  might  as  well  have  been  uninformed,  as 
the  habitation  of  a  reasonable  mind, 

9.  Of  this  kind  is  the  life  of  that  extraordinary  couple 
Harry  Terse tt  and  his  lady.     Harry  was  in  the  clays  of  his 
celibacy  one  of  those  pert  creatures  who  have  much  viva- 
city and  little  understanding  ;  Mrs.  Rebecca  Quickly,  whom 
he  married,  had  all  that  the  fire  of  youth  and  a  lively  man- 
ner could  do  towards  making  an  agreeable  woman. 

10.  These  two  people  of  seeming  merit  fell  into  each 
other's  arms  ;  and  passion  being  sated  and  no  reason  or 
good  sense  in  either  to  succeed  it,  their  life    is  now  at  a 
stand  ;  their   meals  are  insipid,  and  time  tedious  ;  their 
fortune  has  placed  them  above  care,  and  their  loss  of  taste 
reduced  them  belo\v  diversion. 

11.  When  we  talk  of  these  as  instances  of  inexistence, 
we  do  not  mean,  that  in  order  to  live  it  is  necessary  we 
should  always  be  in  jovial  crews,  or  crowned  with  chap- 
lets  of  roses,  as  the  merry  fellows  among  the  ancients 
are  described  ;  but  it  is  intended  by  considering  these 
contraries  to  pleasure,  indolence  and  too  much  delicacy  to 
show  that  it  is  prudence  to  preserve  a  disposition  in  our- 
selves to  receive  a  certain  delight  in  all  we  hear  and  see. 

12.  This  portable   quality  of  good    humor  seasons  all 
the  parts  and  occurrences  we  meet  with,  in  such   a  man- 
ner, that  there  are  no  moments  lost ;  but   they   all  pass 
with  so  much  satisfaction,  that  the  heaviest  of  loads  (when 
it  is  a  load)  that  of  time,  is  never  felt  by  us.. 

13.  Varilas  has  this  quality  to  the  highest  perfection* 
and  communicates  it  wherever  he  appears  :  the  sad,  the 
merry,  the  severe,  the  melancholy,  show  a  new  cheer- 
fulness when  he  comes  amongst  them.     At  the  same  time 
no  one  can  repeat  any  thing  that  Farilas   has  ever  said 
that  deserves  repetition;  but  the  man  has  that  innate 
goodness  of  temper,  that  he  is  welcome  to  every  body, 
because  every  man  thinks  he  is  so  to  him. 

14.  He  does  not  seem  to  contribute  any   thing  to  the 
mirth  of  the  company  ;  and  yet  upon  reflection  you  find 
it  all  happened  by  his  being  there.    I  th aught  it  was  whim- 
sically  said   of  a    gentleman,   That   if  Varilas   had    wit, 
it  would  be  the  best  wit  in  the  world.     It  is  certain,  when 
a  >vell   corrected  lively   imagination  und  good  breeding 


32        The    Ywng -Gentle-Mian:  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

are  added  to  a  sweet  disposition,  they  qualify  it  to  be  one 
qf  the  greatest  blessings,  as  well  as  pleasures  of  life. 

15.  Men  would  come  into  company  with  ten  limes  the 
pleasure   they   do,   if  they  were  sure  of  hearing  nothing 
which  should  shock  them,  as  well  as  expected  what  would 
please  them.  When  we  know  every  person  that  is  spoken 
of  is    represented  by  one  who  has  no   ill  will,   anil  every 
thing  that  is  mentioned  described  by  one  that  is  apt  to  set 
it  in  the  best   light,   the   entertainment  must  be  delicate, 
because  the  cook  has  nothing  bought  to  his  hand,  but  what 
is  most  excellent  in  its  kind. 

1 6.  Beautiful  pictures   are  the  entertainments  of  pure 
minds,  and  deformities  of  the  corrupted.     It  is  a  degree 
towards  the  life  of  angels,  when  we  enjoy  conversation 
Vv  herein  there  is  nothing  present  but  in  its  excellence  ; 
and  a  degree  towards  that  of  demons,  wherein  nothing  is 
shown  but  in.  its  degeneracy. 

SPKCTATOK,  Vol.  II.  NO.  100. 


Friendship. 

1.  f  V^E  would  think  that  the  larger  the  company  is> 
\^f  in  which  we  are  engaged,  the  greater  variety  of 
thoughts  and  subjects  would  be  started  in  discourse  ;  but 
instead  of  this,  we  find  that  conversation  is  never  so  much 
straitened  and  confined  as  in  numerous  assemblies. 

2.  When  a  multitude  meet  together  upon  any  subject 
of  discourse,  their  debates  are  taken  up  chiefly  with  forms 
and  general  positions  ;  nay  if  we  come  into  a  more  con- 
tracted assembly  of  men  and  women,  the  talk  generally 
runs  upon  the  weather,  fashions,  news,  and  the  like  public 
topics. 

3.  In  proportion  as  cenversation   gets  into  clubs  and 
knots  of  friends,  it  descends  into  particulars,  and   grows 
more  free  and  communicative  ;  but  the  most  open,  instruct- 
ive, and  unreserved  discourse,  is  that  which  passes  be- 
tween two  persons  who  are  familiar  and  intimate  friends. 

4.  On  these  occasions,  a  man  gives  a  loose  to  every  pas- 
sion, and  every  thought  that  is  uppermost,  discovers  his 
most   retired  opinions  of  persons  and   things,  tries  the 
beauty   and  strength  of  his  sentiments,  and  exposes  his 
whole  soul  to  the  examination  of  his  friends. 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  33 

5.  Tully  was  the  first   \vho  observed,   that  friendship 
improves  happiness  and  abates  misery,   by  the  doubling 
of  our  joy  and  dividing  of  our  grief;  a  thought  in  which 
he  hath  been  followed  by  all  the  essayers  upon  friendship, 
that  have  written  since  his  time.     Sir  Francis  Bacon  has 
finally  described  other  advantages,   or,  as  he  calls  them, 
fruits   of  friendship  :   and  indeed  there  is  no  subject  of 
morality  which  has  been  better  handled  and  more  exhaust- 
ed than  this. 

6.  Among  the  several  fine  things  which  have  been  spo- 
ken of,    I    shall   beg  leave  to  quote  some  out  of  a   very 
ancient  author,  whose  book  would  be  regarded  by  our 
modern  wits  as  one  of  the  most  shining  tracts  of  morality 
that  is    extant,   if  it  appeared  under  the  name  of  a  Con- 
fucius, or  of  any  celebrated  Grecian  philosopher  ;  I  mean 

the  little  Apocryphal  Treatise,  entitled,  The  Wisdom  of 
the  Son  of  Sirac/i. 

7.  How  finely   has  he  described  the   art   of  making 
friends,  by   an  obliging  and  affable   behavior  !   And   laid 
down  that  precept   which  a  late  excellent  author  has  de- 
livered as  his  own, <  That  we  should  have  many  well  wish- 
ers, but   few   friends/      Sweet   language    will   multiply 
friends  ;  and  a  fair-speaking  tongue  will  increase  kind 
greetings.     Be   in  peace  with   many,  nevertheless  have 
but  one  counsellor  of  a  thousand. 

8.  With  what  prudence  does  he  caution  us  in  the  choice 
of  our  friends  ?  And  with  what  strokes  of  nature  (I  could 
almost   say  of  humor)   has  he  described  the  behavior  of 
a.  treacherous  and  self-interested  friend  ?  '  If  thou  wonkiest 
c  get  a  friend,  prove  him  first   and  be  not  hasty  to  credit 

*  him  :  for  some  man  is  a  friend  for  his  own  occasion,  and 

*  will  not  abide  in  the  day  of  thy  trouble. 

9.  4  And   there  is  a  friend,  who  being  turned  to  en- 
<  mity  and    strife,   will   discover  thy   reproach.'     Again, 
4  Some  friend  is  a  companion   at  the  table,  and  will  not 

*  continue  in  the  day  of  thy  affliction  :   but  in  thy  pros- 

*  perity  he  will  be  as  thyself,  and  will  be  bold  over  thy 
1  servants.     If  thou  be  brought  low,   he  will 'be  against 
4  theevand  hide  himself  from  thy  face.' 

10.  What  can  be  more  strong  and  pointed  than  the 
following  verse  ?  4  Separate  thyself  from   thine  enemies, 

*  pnd  take  heed  of  thy  -friends.'1   In  the  next  words  he 


34         The  Young  Gentlemen  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

particularizes  one  of  those  fruits  of  friendship  which  is 
described  at  length  by  the  two  famous  authors  above 
mentioned,  and  falls  into  a  general  eulogium  of  friend- 
ship, which  is  very  just  as  well  as  very  sublime. 

1 1.  '  A  faithful  friend  is  a  strong  defence  :  and  he  that 
4  hath  found  such  a  one,  hath  found  a  treasure.     Nothing 
i  doth  countervail  a  faithful  friend,  and  his  excellency  is 
'  invaluable.     A  faithful   friend  is  the  medicine  of  life  ; 

*  and  they  that  fear  the  Lord   shall  find  him.     Whoso 
4  feareth  the  Lord  shall  direct  his  friendship  aright :  for 

*  as  he  is,  so  shall  his  neighbor  (that  is,  his  friend)  be 

*  also/ 

12.  I  do  not  remember  to  have  met  with  any  saying 
that  has  pleased  me  more  than  that  of  a  friend's  being 
the  medicine  of  life,  to  express  the  efficacy  of  friendship 
in  healing  the  pains  and  anguish  which  naturally  cleave 
to  our  existence  in  this  world  ;  and  am  wonderfully  pleas- 
ed with  the  turn  in  the  last  sentence,  That  a  virtuous  man 
shall  as  a  blessing  meet  with  a  friend  who  is  as  virtuous  as 
himself. 

13.  There  is  another  saying  in  the  same  author,  which 
would  have  been  very  much  admired  in  an  heathen  wri- 
ter ;  {  Forsake  not  an  old  friend,  for  the  new  is  not  com- 
<  parable  to  him  :  a  new  friend  is  as  new  wine  ;  when  it 
Vis  old  thou  shalt  drink  it  with  pleasure/ 

14.  With    what    strength    of  allusion,    and    force    of 
thought,  has  he  described  the  breaches   and  violations  of 
friendship  ?  '  Whoso  casteth  a  stone  at  the  birds  frayeth 

them  away  ;  and  he  that  upbraideth  his  friend,  break- 
eth  friendship.  Though  thou  drawest  a  sword  at  a  friend, 
yet  despair  not,  for  there  may  be  a  returning  to  favor  ; 
if  thou  hast  opened  thy  mouth  against  thy  frkncl,  fear 
not,  for  there  may  be  a  reconciliation  ;  except  for  up- 
braiding, or  pride,  or  disclosing  of  secrets,  or  a  treach- 
erous wound  ;  for,  for  these  things,  every  friend  will 
depart.' 

15.  We  may  observe  in  this  and  several  other  precepts 
in  this  author,  those  little  familiar  instances  and  illustra- 
tions which  are  so  much  admired  in  the  moral  writings  of 
Horace  and  Ejiictetus.     There  are  very  beautiful  instances 
of  this  nature  in  tha  following  pages,  which  are  likewise 
written  upon  the  same  subject : 


end  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  55 

16.  c  Whoso  cliscovereth  secrets,  loseth  his  credit  and 
shall  never  iind  a  friend  to  his  mind.     Love  thy  friend, 
and  be  faithful  unto  him  ;  but  if  thou  bewrayest  his  se- 
crets, follow  no  more  after  him  :  for  as  a  man  hath  de- 
stroyed his  enemy,  so  hast  thou  lost  the  love  of  thy 
friend  ;  as  one  that  letteth  a  bird  go  out  of  his  hand,  so 
hast  thou  let  thy  friend  go,  and  shall  not  get  him  again  : 
follow  after  him  no  more,  for  he  is  too  far  ofY  ;  he  is  as  a 
roe  escaped  out  of  the  snare.     As  for  a  wound,  it  may  be 
bound  up,  and  after  reviling,  there  may  be  reconciliation  ; 

*  but  he  that  bewrayeth  secrets,  is  without  hope.' 

17.  Among  the  several  qualifications  of  a  good  friend 
this  wise  man  has  very  justly  singled  out  constancy  and 
faithfulness  as  the  principal  :  to  these,  others  have  added 
virtue,  knowledge,  discretion,  equality  in  age  and  fortune, 
and  as  Cicero  calls  it,  morum  comitas,  a  pleasantness  of 
temper. 

18.  If  I  were  to  give  my  opinion  upon  such  an  exhaust- 
ed subject,  I  should  join  to  these  other  qualifications  a  cer- 
tain sequibility  or  evenness  of  behavior.     A  man  often 
contracts  a  friendship  with  one  whom  perhaps  he  does  net 
find  out  till  after  a  year's  conversation  :  when  on  a  sudden 
some   latent  ill  humor  breaks  out  upon  him,   which  he 
never  discovered  or  suspected  at  his  first  entering  into  an 
intimacy  with  him. 

19.  There  are  several  persons  who  in  some  certain  pe- 
riods of  their  lives  are  inexpressibly  agreeable,   and  in 
others  as  odious  and  detestable,     Martial  has  given  us  a 
very  pretty  picture  of  one  of  these  species  in  the  following 
epigram  : 


DifficiliS)facilis,  jucttndus^  acerbus,  es 

JVec  tecum  possum  vrvtre,  ncc  sine  te,     Epig.  47.  I.  1  2, 

In  all  thy  humors,  whether  grave  or  mellow, 
Thou'rt  such  a  touchy,  testy,  pleasant  fellow  ; 
Hast  so  much  wit  and  mirth,  and  spleen  about  thee, 
There  is  no  living  with  thee,  nor  without  thee. 

20.  It  is  very  unlucky  for  a  man  to  be  entangled  in  a 
friendship  with  one,  who  by  these  changes  and  vicissitudes 
of  humor,  is  sometimes  amiable,  and  sometimes  odious  : 


3£  The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 
and  as  most  men  are  at  some  times  in  an  admirable  frame 
and  disposition  of  mind,  it  should  be  one  of  the  greatest 
tasks  of  wisdom  to  keep  ourselves  well  when  we  are  so 
and  never  to  go  out  of  that  which  is  the  agreeable  part 
of  our  character. 

SPECTATOR,  Vol.  L  No.  68. 

21.  *  Friendship  is  a  strong   and  habitual  inclination 
1  in  two  persons  to  promote  the  good  and  happiness  of 
«  one  another.1    Though  the  pleasures  and  advantages  of 
friendship  have  been  largely  celebrated  by  the  best  moral 
writers,  and  are  considered  by  all  as  great  ingredients  of 
human  happiness,  we  very  rarely  meet  with  the  practice 
of  this  virtue  in  the  world. 

22.  Every  man  is  ready  to  give  a  long  catalogue  of 
those  virtues  and  good  qualities  he  expects  to  find  in  the 
person  of  a  friend,  but  very  few  of  us  are  careful  to  culti- 
vate them  in  ourselves. 

Love  and  esteem  are  the  first  principles  of  friendship, 
which  always  is  imperfect  where  either  of  these  two  is 
wanting. 

23.  As,  on  the  one  hand,  we  are  soon  ashamed  of  lov- 
ing a  man  whom  we  cannot  esteem  ;  so  on  the  other, 
though  we  are  truly  sensible  of  a  man's  abilities,  we  can 
never  raise  ourselves  to  the  warmths  of  friendship,  with- 
out an  affectionate  good  will  towards  his  person. 

24.  Friendship  immediately  banishes  envy  under  all  its 
disguises.     A    man  who    can   once    doubt   whether   he 
should  rejoice  in  his  friend's  being  happier  than  himself, 
may  depend  upon  it,  that  he  is  an  utter  stranger  to  this 
virtue. 

25.  There  is  something  in  friendship  so  very  great  and 
noble,  that  in  those  fictitious  stories  which  are  invented  to 
the  honor  of  any   particular   person,   the  authors  have 
thought  it  as  necessary  to  make  their  hero  a  friend  as  a 
lover.    Achilles  has  his  Patroclus,  and  j&neashis  Achates. 

26.  In  the  first  of  these  instances  we  may  observe,  for 
the  reputation  of  the  subject  I  am  treating  of,  that  Greece 
was  almost  ruined  by  the  hero's  love,  but  was  preserved  by 
his  friendship. 

27.  The  character  of  Achates  suggests  to  us  an  observ- 
ation we  may  often  make  on  the  intimacies  of  great  men, 
\Yko  frequently  choose  their  companions  rather  for  the 


..end  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  S'f 

qualities  of  the  heart,  than  those  of  the  head  :  and  pre- 
fer fidelity,  in  an  easy  .inoffensive  complying  temper,  io 
those  endowments  wmch  .  iriuke  a  .much  greater  iigure 
-  .among  mankind..  ... 

28/  I.do  nut  remember  that  Achates,  who  .is  represejp.t- 
ecl  as  the  first  -favorite,  either  gives  his  advice,  or  strikes 
a  blow  through  the  .whole  -Mndd. 

A  friendship,  which  makes  the  least 'noi^e,  is  very,  often 
most  useful  :  "for  which  re^oi)  I  should  prefer  a  prudent 
friend  to  a  zealous  one.  , 

29.  Attune  one  of  the  best  t.ra.en  of,  ancient  Rome,  was 
a  very  remarkable  instance  of  what  I  am  here  speaking. 
This  .extraordinary  person,  amidst  the  civil. wars  of  lib 
Gauntry, When  he,saw  the  designs  of  all  parties  equally 
tended  to  the  sub  version  of  liberty,  by  constantly  preserv- 
ing the  esteem  and  affection  of  bofa  the  competitors, 
found,  txieans  to  surve  his  friends  on  either  side  ;  and 
while  he  sent  money  to  "young  Marius,  whose  father  was 
declared  aa  tviemy  of 'th,e  com mon wealth,. he  ,was  himself 
ons.  of  fyya's  |  chuif  .favput.es,  and  always  near  that 
general. 

CO.  During  the  war  between    Cesar  aa^d  fomfiey,    he 


gpo     oiice^    to 

v,rhen  tae  party  Deemed  ruined. .  Lastly,  even  in  that  bloo- 
dy war  between  Anthvnij  and  Augustus,  Atticus  still  kept 
his  place  in  both. their  friendships;  insomuch,  that  the 
firs^-*ary>s  Cornelius ,  J^e/ios,,  whcncvpr  lie  v/as  absent  from 
Rome  in  any  part  of  the  empire,  \vrit  punctually  to  him 
what  Ue,  Tij^s  d^ipg,;;wl*at  he  rc,-d,  and  whither  he -iiiL* •-. 
to  go  ;  and  the  kvUer  gave'him  constanUy,  m  exact  ac- 
count of  all  his  affairs. 

31.  A  likeness  of  43X<Ji^tipns  jn  every  particular  is  so 
far  from  being   requisite  to  form  a  benevolence  in   two 
minds  towards  each  other,  as. it  is  generally   imagined, 
that  I  believe  we  shall  fmd  some  of  the  firmest  friendships 
to  have  beep  contracted  between  persons  of  different  hu- 
mors ;  the  mind  being 'often  pleased  with .  those. jjerfpo 
lions  which  are  new  to  it,  and  \vhich  .it  doss  not  find  among 
UsoAvivaccomplishmejit, 

32.  Uesides  tha,t  a  naajj  IR  f$$£   measure  supiilic 

B   ' 


38         The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

own  defects,  and  fancies  himself  at  second  hand  possessed 
of  those  good  qualities  and  endowments,  which  are  in  the 
possession  of  him  who  in  the  eye  of  the  world  is  looked 
on  as  his  other  self. 

33.  The   most  difficult  province  in  friendship  is  the 
letting  a  man  see  his  faults  and  errors,  which  should,  if 
possible,  be  so  contrived,  that  he  may  perceive  our  ad- 
vice is  given  him  not  so  much  to  please  ourselves,  as  for 
his  own  advantage.     The  reproaches,  therefore,  of  a  friend 
should  always  be  strictly  just,  and  not  too  frequent. 

34.  The  violent  desire  of  "pleasing  in  the   person  re- 
proved may  otherwise  change  into  despair  of  doing  it, 
while  he  finds  himself  censured  for  faults  he  is  not  con- 
scious of.     A  mind  that  is  softened  and  humanised  by 
friendship,  cannot  bear   frequent   reproaches  ;  either  it 
must  quite  sink  under  the  oppression,  or  abate  considera- 
bly of  the  value  and  esteem  it  had  for  him  who  bestows 
them. 

35.  The  proper  business  of  friendship  is  to  inspire  life 
and  courage  ;  and  a  soul  thus  supported,  out-does  itself  ; 
whereas  if  it  be  unexpectedly  deprived  of  those  succors, 
it  droops  and  languishes. 

36.  We  are  in  some  measure  more  inexcusable  if  we 
violate  Our  duties  to  a  friend,  than  to  a  relation  ;  since 
the  former  arise  from  a  voluntary  choice,  the  latter  from 
a  necessity  to  which  we  could  not  give  our  own  consent. 

37V  As  it  has  been  said  on  ofie  side,  that  a  man  ought 
not  to  break  with  a  faulty  friend,  that  he  may  not  expose 
the  weakness  of  his  choice  ;  it  will  doubtless  lioltl  mtfch 
stronger  with  respect  to  a  worthy  one,  that  he  may  never 
be  upbraided  for  having  lost  so  valuable  a  treasure  ivhich^ 
was  once  in  his- possession. 


• 


Detraction  and  Falsehood. 

l.T  HAVE  not  seen  you  lately  at  any  of  the  places  where 
JL  I  visit,  so  that  I  am  Afraid  you  are  wholly  uriac- 

suainted  with  what  passes  among  my  part  of  the  world, 
ho  are,  though  I  say  it,  without  controversy,  the  most 
otrlpUsried  and  best  bred  of  tiie  town* 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  3$ 

2.  Give  me  leave  to  tell   you,   that  I   am   extremely 
discomposed  when  I  hear  scandal,  and  am  an  utter  enemy 
to  all   manner  of  detraction,  and  think  it  the   greatest 
meanness  that  people,  of  distinction  can  be  guilty  of;  how- 
ever, it  is  hardly  possible  to  come  into  company,  where 
you  do  not  find' them  pulling  one  another  to  pieces,  and 
that  from  no  other  provocation  but  that  of  hearing  any 
one  commended. 

3.  Merit,  both   as  to  wit    and  beauty,  is  become  no 
other  than  the  possession  of  a  few  trifling  people's  favor, 
which  you  cannot  possibly  arrive  at,  if  you  have  really  any 
thing  in  you  that  is  deserving. 

4.  What  they  would  bring  to  pass  is,  to  make  all  good 
and  evil  consist  in  report,  and   with  whisper,  calumnies, 
and  impertinence,  to  have  the  conduct  of  those  reports. 

5.  By  this  means  innocents  are  blasted  upon  their  first 
appearance  in  town  ;  and  there  is  nothing  more  required 
to  make  a  young  woman  the  object  of  envy  and  hatred, 
than  to  deserve  love  and  admiration. 

6.  This  abominable    endeavor  to  suppress    or  lessen 
every  thing  that  is  praise  worthy,    is  as  frequent  among 
the  men  as  women.     If  I  can  remember  what  passed  at. a 
visit  last  night,  it  will  serve  as  an  instance  that  the  sexes 
are  equally  inclined  to  defamation,  with  equal  malice,  : 
with  equal  impotence.  ...... 

7.  Jack  Trifilett  came  into  my  Lady  Airy's  about  eight 
of  the  clock.     You- know  the  manner  we   sit  at  a  visit, 
and  I  need  not  describe   the  circle  ;  but  Mr.    Trifilett" 
came. in,  introduced  by  two  tapers  supported  by  a  spruce 
servant,  whose  hair  is  under  a  cap  till  my  lady's  candles  : 
are  all  lighted  up,  and  the  hour  of  ceremony  begins. 

8.  I  say  Jack  Trifilett  came  in,  and  singing-  (for  he  is 
really    good    company)  *  Every  feature,  charming  crea- 
ture'— he  went  on.     It  is  a  most  unreasonable  thing  that 
people  cannot  go  peaceably  to  see  their  friends,  but  these 
murderers  are  let  loose. 

9.  Such  a  shape  !  such  an  air  !  what  a  glance  was  that 
as  her  chariot  passed  by  mine  1 — My  lady  herself  inter- 
rupted him  :  Pray,  who  is  this  fine  thing  ? — I  warrant, 
says  another,  'tis  the  creature  I  was  telling  your  ladyship 
D*  just  now* 

10.  You  were  telling  of?  says  Jack  ;  I  wish  I  had 


40        The  Yb'ttng-  Qsntfanan-and  Ladifs  MONITOR, 

been  so  happy  as  to  have  come  in  and  heard  you,  for  I 
have  not  words  to  Say  what  she  is  :  but  if  an  agreeable 
liei^ht;  a  modest  air,  a  virgin  shame,  and  impatience  of 
being  beheld,  amidst  a  blaze  often  thousand  charms  - 
The  wiaoie  room  flew  out  -  -Oh<  Mr.  Triplett  !  —  When 
Mrs.  Lofty,  a  known  prude,  said  slie  believed  she  kne\t 
whom  the  gentleman  meant  ;  but  she  was  indeed,  c<s  he 
civilly  represented  her,  impatient  of  being  beheld.  Then 
turning  to  the  lady  next  her  —  The  most  imbred  creature 
you  ever  s-aw. 

11.  Another   pursued     the    .discourse  :—  As   utibrec', 
Madam,  as  you  may  think  her,  she  is  extremely  belied  if 
she  is  the  novice  she  appears  ;   she  was  last  week  at  a  ball 
till  tWo  in  the   m'ornin*?;  :'  Mr.  Triplet  t  knows  whether  he 
was  the   happy  man   that  'took  care  of  her  home  ;  but 

This  was  followed  by  some  'particular  exception  that 
each  woman  'in  the  room  made1  to  $orne  pc<  .\\oe-  €•? 

advantage  ;  so  that  Mr.  Triplet  t.  was  beaten  ffom  oni 
limb  and  feature  to  another,  till  Ue  V/RS  forced  to  re  si  git 
the  whole  woman. 

12.  In  the  end,  I  took  notice  -Triplet*  iv  rented  all  this 
malice  in  his  heart  ;  and  Saw  in  his  countenance,  and  a 
certain  waggish  shrill-that  he  designed  to  repeat  the  con- 
versation :   I  therefore  let  tlie  discourse  die,-  and  soon  after 
took  an  occasion  to  commend  a  certain  gentleman  of  rny 
acquaintance  for  a  person"  of  singular  modesty,  courage, 
integrity,  and   witlilal,  as   a  man  of   an  entertaining  con- 
versation,-^ which  advantages  he  had  a  shape  and  manner 
peculiarly  graceful. 

13.  Mr.  Tri/ikit,    who  is  a  woman's  inan,   seemed   to 
hear   me  with  •  enough,  1   the  qualities 
t^f  his  mind;   he  never  heard,  indeed,   but  ihat  he  was  a 
very  honest  man,  and  no  fool  ;  but  fr"  -;tmleman$ 
he  must   ssk-   pardon.     Upon   no  other  foundation  than 
this,  Mr.  -Triplet  i  took  occasion  to  gi  mans 
"pedigree,  by  what  methods  some  part  "of  the  estate  was 
Acquired,  ho'w    much  it   w?ts  btrliolrkn   to  a   m?H»iage  for 
the  pFesent  circMmsv^uces  of  it  :                            uld  see-no- 

•  thing  'but   a   common  man  in  his  person,  i-io  brt-ediijg  or 


-. 

!4.  Thus,--  Mr.   Spectator,   this  impertinent  -humor  ef 
.Ishing  evoi-y  one  wli©  is-'froclucwl  in  conY^rsatk'i5: 


and  English  Teachers  ASSISTANT.  41 

to  their  advantage,  runs  through  the  world  ;  and  I  am,  I 
confess,  so  fearful  of  the  force  of  ill  tongues,  that  I  have 
begged  of  all  .those  who  are  my  well  wishers,  never  to 
commend  me,  for  it  will  but  bring  my  frailties  into  exam- 
ination, and  I  had  rather  be  unobserved,  than  conspicuous 
for  disputed  perfections. 

1 5..  I  am  confident  a  thousand  young  people,  who  would 
have  been  ornaments  to  society,  have,  from  fear  of  scan- 
dal, never  dared  to  exert  themselves  in  the  polite  arts  of 
life.  Their  Jives  have  passed  away  in  an  odious  rustici- 
ty y.  in  spite  of  great  advantages  of  person,  genius,  and 
fortune. 

16.  There  is  a  vicious  terror  of  being  blamed  in  some 
well  inclined  people,  and  a  wicked  pleasure  in  suppressing 
them  in  others  ;  both  which  I  recommend  to  your  specta- 
torial  wisdom  to  animadvert  upon  ;   and  if  you  can  be  suc- 
cegsful  in  it,  I  need  not  say  how  much  you  will  deserve  of 
the  town  ;  but  new  toasts  will  owe  to  you  their  beauty, 
and  new  wits  their  fame. 

17.  Truth    and  reality  have  all  the  advantages  of  ap- 
pearance and  many  more.     If  the  show  of  any  thing  be 
good  for  any  thing,  I  am  sure  sincerity  is  better  :  for 

"why  does  any  man  dissemble,  or  seem  to  be  that  which 
he  is  not,  but  because  he  thinks  it  good  to  have  such  a 
quality  as  he  pretends  to  :  for  to  counterfeit  and  dissemble, 
is  to  put  on  the  appearance  of  some  real  excellency » 

18.  Now  the  best  way  in  the  world  for  a  man  to  seem 
to  be  any  thing,  is  really  to  be  what  he  would  seem  to  be* 
Besides  that,   it  is  many  times  as  troublesome  to  make 
good  the  pretence  of  a  good  quality,  as  to  have  it ;  and  if 
a  man  have  it  not,  it  is  ten  to  one  but  he  is  discovered  to 
want  it,  and  then  all  his  pains  and  labor  to  seem  to  have 
it  is    lost.     There   is    something   unnatural   in  painting, 
which  a  skilful  eye  will  easily  discern  from  native  beauty 
and  complexion. 

19.  It  is  hard  to  personate   and  act  a  part  long;  for 
where  truth  is  not  at  the  bottom,  nature  will  always  Ue 
endeavoring  to  return-,  and  will  peep  out  and  betray  her- 
self one  time  or  other.     Therefore,  if  any  man  think  it 
convenient  to  seem  good,  let  him  be  so  indeed,   and  then 
|iis  goodness  will  appear  to  every  body's  satisfaction  ;   sp 
that  upon  all  accounts  sincerity  is  true  wisdom,. 

D  2 


42         The  Young-  Ocd&ema^  avd.l^djs' MONITOR, 

20.  Particularly  as  to  the  affairs  of  this  world,  i 

ty  hath  many  advantages  over  the  fine  and  artificial  ways 
of  dissimulation  and  deceit  ;  it  is  much  the  plainer  and 
easier,  much  the  safer  and  more  secure  way  of  dealing  in 
the  world  ;  it  has  less  of  trouble  and  difficulty,  of  entan- 
glement and  perplexity,  of  danger  and  hazard  in  it  :  it 
is  the  shortest  and  nearest  way  to  our  end,  carrying  us 
thither  in  a  straight  line,  and  will  hold  -out  and  last 
longest. 

21.  The  arts   of  deceit  and    cunning  da  continually 
grow  weaker  and  less  effectual  and  serviceable  to  them 
that  use  them  ;  whereas  integrity  gains  strength  by  use, 
and    the  more   and   longer   any  man  practiseth   it,    the 
greater  service  it   does  him,  by  confirming    his  reputa- 
tion, and  encouraging  those  with  whom  he  hath  to   do, 
to  repose  the  greatest  trust  and  confidence  in  him,  which 
is  an  unspeakable  advantage   in  the  business  and  affairs 
of  life. 

22.  Truth  is  always  consistent  with  itself,  and  needs 
nothing  to  help  it  out ;  it  is  always  near  at  hand,  and  sits 
vipon  our  lips,  and   is   ready  to  drop  out  before  we  are 
aware  ;  whereas  a  lie  is  troublesome,  and  sets  a  man's  in- 
vention upon  the  rack,  and  one  trick  needs  a  great  many 
more  to  make  it  good. 

9,3.  It  is  like  building  upon  a  false  foundation,  which 
continually  stands  in  need  of  props  to  fchoar  it  up,  and 
proves  at  last  more  chargeable,  lhan  to  have  raised  a  sub- 
stantial building  at  first  upon  a  true  and  solid  foundation  ; 
for  sincerity  is  firm  and  substantial,  and  there  is  nothing 
"hollow  and  unsound  in  it,  and  because  it  is  plain  and  open, 
fears  no  discovery  : 

24.  Of  which  the  crafty  man  is  always  in  danger,  and 
when  he  thinks  he  walks  in  the  dark,  all  his  pretences  are 
io  transparent,  that  he  who  runs  may  read  them  ;  he  is 
the  last  man  that  finds  himself  to  be  found  out,  and  whilst 
he  takes  it  for  granted  that  he  makes  fools  cf  others,  he 
renders  himself  ridiculous. 

25,  Add  to  all  this,  that  sincerity  is  the  most  compen- 
dious wisdom,  and  an  excellent  instrument  for  the  speedy 
dispatch  of  business,  it  creates  confidence  in  those  we  have 
io  deal  with,  saves  the  labor  of  many  inquiries,  and  brings 
things  to  an   issue  in  a  fe\Y  Words, 


find  English  Tcacherys  ASSISTANT.  43 

26.  It  is  like  travelling  in   a  plain  beaten  road,   which 
commonly  brings  a  man  sooner  to  his  journey's  end  than 
by-way  s>  in  which  men  often  lose  themselves.    In  a- word, 
whatsoever  convenience  may  be  thought  to  be  in  falsehood 
and  dissimulation,  it  is  soon  over  ;  but  the  inconvenience 
of  it  is  perpetual,  because  it  brings  a  man  under  an  ever- 
lasting jealousy  and  suspicion ,  so  that  he  is  not  believed 
when  he  speaks  truth,  nor  trusted  when  perhaps  he  means 
honestly  ;  when  a  man  hath  once  forfeited  the  reputation 
of  his  integrity,  he  is  set  fast,  and  nothing  will  then  serve 
his  turn,  neither  truth  nor  falsehood. 

27.  And  I  have  often  thought,  that  God  hath,   in  his 
great  wisdom,  hid  from  men  of  false  and  dishonest  minds, 
the    wonderful  advantages  of  truth  and  integrity  to  the 
prosperity  even  of  our  worldly  affairs  ;  these  men  are  so 
blinded  by  their  covetousness  and  ambition,  that  they  can^- 
not  look  beyond  a  present  advantage,  nor  forbear  to  seize 
upon  it,   though  by  ways  never  so  indirect  ;  they  caxmo.t 
see  so  far,  as  to  the  remote  consequences  of  a  steady  in- 
tegrity, and  the  vast  benefit  and  advantages  which  it  will 
bring  a  man  at  last. 

28.  Were  but  this  sort  of  men  wise,  and  clear  sighted 
enough  to  discern  this,  they  would  be  honest  out  of  very 
knavery  ;  not  out  of  any  love  to  honesty  and  virtue,  but 
with  a  crafty  design  to  promote  and  advance  more  effect- 
ually their  own  interests  ;  and  therefore  the  justice  of  the 
Divine  Providence  hath  hid  this  truest  point  of  wisdom 
from  their  eyes,  that  bad  men   might  not  he  upon  equal 
terms  with  the  just  and  upright,  and  serve  their  own  wick- 
ed designs  by  honest  and  lawful  means. 

29.  Indeed  if  a  man  were  only  to  deal  in  the  world  for 
a  day,  and  should  never  have  occasion  to  converse  more 
with  mankind,  never  more  need  their  good  opinion  or  good 
word,   it  were  then  no   great  matter  (speaking  as  to  the 
concernments  of  this  world)  if  a  man  spent  his  reputation 
all  at  once,  and  ventured  it  at  one  throw. 

30.  But  if  he  be  to  continue  in   the  world,  and  would 
have  the  advantage  of  conversation  whilst  he  is  in  it,  let 
him  make  use  of  truth  and  sincerity  in  all  his  words  and 
actions  ;  for  nothing  but  this  will  last  and  hold  out  to  the 
end  ;  all  other  arts  will  fail,  but  truth   and  integrity  will 
carry  a  man  through,  and  bear  him  out  to  the  last, 


44        The  Young  Gentleman  and  Ladifs  MONITOR, 

31.  When  Aristotle  was  once  asked,  what  a  man  could 
gain  by  uttering  falsehoods  ?  he  replied,  "  not  to  be  cred- 
ited when  he  shall  tell  the  truth." 

The  character  of  a  liar  is  at  once  so  hateful  and  con- 
temptible, that  even  of  those  who  have  lost  their  virtue  it 
might  be  expected,  that  from  the  violation  of  truth  they 
should  be  restrained  by  their  pride.  Almost  every  other 
vice  that  disgraces  human  nature,  may  be  kept  in  counte- 
nance by  applause  and  association. 

S2.  The  corrupter  of  virgin  innocence  sees  himself 
envied  by  the  men,  and  at  least  not  detested  by  the  wo- 
men ;  the  drunkard  may  easily  unite  with  beings,  devoted 
like  himself  to  noisy  merriment  or  silent  insensibility,  who 
will  celebrate  his  victories  over  the  novices  of  intempe- 
rance, boast  themselves  the  companions  of  his  prowess, 
and  tell  with  rapture  of  the  multitudes  whom  unsuccess- 
ful emulation  has  hurried  to  the  grave  :  even  the  robber 
and  the  cut-throat  have  their  followers,  who  admire  their 
address  and  intrepidity,  their  statagems  of  rapine,  and 
their  fidelity  to  the  gang* 

33.  The  liar,  and  only  the  liar,  is  invariably   and  uni- 
versally despised,  abandoned  and  disowned  :  he  has  no  do- 
mestic consolations,  which  he  can  oppose  to  the  censure 
of  mankind  ;  he  can  retire  to  no  fraternity  where  his  crimes 
may   stand  in  the  place  of  virtues,  but  is  given  up  to  the 
hisses  of  the  multitude*,  without  friend  and  without  apolo- 
gist. It  is  the  peculiar  condition  of  falsehood,  to  be  equal- 
ly detested  by  the  good  and  bad  ;  "  The  devils,"  says  Sir 
Thomas  Brown,  "  do  not  tell    lies  to  one  another  ;  for 
"  truth  is  necessary  to  all  societies  ;  nor  can  the  society 
"  of  hell  subsist  without  it." 

34.  It  is  natural  to  expect,  that  a  crime  thus  generally 
detested  should  be  generally  avoided  ;  at  least  that  none 
should  expose  himself  to  unabated  and  unpitied  infamy, 
.without  an  adequate  temptation  ;  and  that  to  guilt  so  ea- 
sily detected,  and  so  severely  punished,  an  adequate  tempt- 
ation would  not  readily  be  found. 

35.  Yet  so  it  is,  that  in  defiance  of  censure   and   con- 
tempt, truth  is  frequently  violated  ;  and  scarcely  the  most 
vigilant  and  unremitted  circumspection  will  secure  him 
that  mixes  with  mankind,  from   being  hourly  deceived 
t>y  men  of  v/hon\  it  can  scarcely  be  imagined,  that  they 


and  English  Teacher's  AS-SIS.TAN-T.  4'5 

mean, an  injury  to  him  or  profit  to  themselves  f  even 
where  the  subject  of  conversation  could  not  have  been 
expected  to  put  the  passions  in  motion,  or  to  have  excited 
tiither  hope  or  fear,  or  zeal  or  malignity,  sufficient  to 
induce  any  man  to  put  his  reputation  in  hazard,  however 
Httltt  he  might  value  it,  or  to  overpower  the  love  of  truth, 
however  vr^ak  might  be  its  influence. 

36,  The  casuists  have  very  diligently  distinguished  lies 
into  their  several   classes,   according  to  their  various  de- 
grees of  malignity  :  but  they    have,    I  think,    generally 
omitted  that  which   is  most   common,   and  perhaps,  not 
less  mischievous  ;  which,    since  the  moralists   have  not 
given  it  a  name,  I  shall  distinguish  as  the  lie  of  vanity. 

To  vanity  may  justly  be  imputed  most  of  the  falsehoods, 
v.'hich  every  man  perceives,  hourly  playing  upon  his  ear, 
and  perhaps  most  of  those  that  are  propagated  with  success. 

37.  To  the  lie  cf  commerce,  and  the   lie  of  malice, 
the  motive  is   so  apparent,    that  they  are  seldom  negli- 
gently or  implicitly  received  :  suspicion  is  always  watchful 
over  the  practices  of  interest  ;   and  whatever  the  hope   of 
g£$ft,  or  desire  of  mischief,  can  prompt  one  rsian  to  assert, 
another  is  by  reasons   equally   cogent  incited  to  refute. 
But  vanity  pleases  herself  with  such  slight  gratifications, 
and  looks  forward  to  pleasure  so  remotely  consequential, 
that  her  practices  raise  no  alarm,  and  her  stratagems  are 
not  easily  discovered. 

53.  Vanity  is,  indeed,  often  suffered  to  pass  unpursned 
by  suspicion  ;  because  he  that  would  watch  her  motions, 
•  \\n  never  be  at  rest  ;  fraud  and  malice  are  bounded  in. 
iheir  influence  :  some  opportunity  of  time  and  place  is 
rccessary  to  their  agency  ;  but  scarce  any  man  is  al> 
'td  one  moment  from  his  vanity  ;  and  he,  to  whom 
•I'vuh  aiTordsno  gratifications,  is  generally  inclined  to  seek 
t h ;:  ni  i  n  fa! s e'hoocls. 

39.  It  is  remarked  by  Sir  Kenclm  Dighy  "  that  every 
;i  has  a  desire  to  appear  superior  to  others,  though 
*-  it  were  only  in  having  seen  what  they  have  not  seen." 

Such  an  accidental  advantage,  since  it  neither  implies 
!v^rit,  nor  confers  dignity,  one  would  think  should  not 
t.-c  desired  so  much  as  to  be  counterfeited  ;  yet  even  thfe 
vanity,  trifling  as  it  is,  produces  innumerable  narratives, 
r.ll  equally  false,  but 'more  or  k's*  credible,  in  proportion 
to  the  skill  or  confidence  of  the  relate rJ 


46         The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

40..;  How  many  may  a  man  of  a  diffusive  conversation 
count  among  his  acquaintances,  whose  lives  have  been 
signalized  by  numberless  escapes  ?  who  never  cross  the 
river  but  in  a  storm,  or  take  a  journey  into  the  counuy 
without  more  adventures  than  befel  the  knight-errants 
of  ancient  times  in  pathless  forests  or  enchanted  castles  ! 
How  many  must  he  know,  to  whom  portents  and  prodi- 
gies are  of  daily  occurrence  ;  and  for  whom  nature  is 
hourly  working  wonders  invisible  to  every  other  eye,  only 
to  supply  them  with  subjects  of  conversation  ! 

41.  Others  there  are  who  amuse  themselves  with  the 
dissemination  of  falsehood,  at  greater'  hazard  of  detection 
and  disgrace  :  men  marked  out  by  some  lucky  planet  for 
universal  confidence  and  friendship,  who  have  been  con- 
sulted in  every  difficulty^  entrusted  with  every  secret,  and 
summoned  to  every  transaction  :  it  is  the  supreme  felicity 
of  these  men,   to  stun  all  companies  with  npisy  informa- 
tion ;  to  still  doubt,  and  overbear  opposition,  with  certain 
knowledge  or  authentic  intelligence. 

42.  A  liar  of  this  kind,  with  a  strong  memory  or  brisk 
imagination,  is  often  the  oracle  of  an  obscure  club,  and, 
till  time  discovers  his  impostures,  dictates  to  his  hear- 
ers with  uncontroled  authority  :  for  if  a  public  question 
be  started,  he  was  present  at  the  debate  ;  if  a  new  fashion 
be.  mentioned,  he  was  at  court  the  first  day  of  its  appear- 
ance ;  if  a- new  performance  of  literature  draws  the  atten- 
tion of  the  public,  he  has  patronized  the  author,  and  seen 
his  work  in  manuscript ;  -  if  a  criminal  of  eminence  be  con- 
demned to  tiie,  he  often  predicted  his  fate,  and  endeav- 
ored his  reformation  :   and  who  that  lives  at  a  distance 
from  the  scene  of  action,  will  dare  to  contradict  a  man, 
who  reports  from  his  own  eyes  arid  ears,  and  to  whom  all 
persons  and  affairs  are  thus  intimately  known  ? 

43.  This  kind  of  falsehood  is  generally  successful  for 
a  time,  because  it  is  practised  at  first  with  timidity  and 
caution  ;  but  the  prosperity  of  the  liar  is  of  short  dura>- 
tion  ;  the  reception  of  one  "story  is  always  an  incitement 
to  the  forgery  of  another  less  probable  ;  and  he  goes  on 
to  triumph  over  tacit  credulity,  till  f>ride  or  reason  rises 
up  against  him,  and  his  companions  will  no  longer  endure 
to  see  him  wiser  than  themselves. 

44.  It  is  apparent,    that    the  inventors  of  all  these 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  47* 

fictions  intend  some  exaltation  of  themselves,  and  are  led 
off  by  the  pursuit  of  honor  from  their  attendance  upon 
truth:  their  narratives  always  imply  some  consequence 
in  favor  of  their  courage,  their  sagacity,  or  their  activity, 
their  familiarity  with  the  learned,  or  their  reception  among 
the  great  ;  they  are  always  bribed  by  the  present  pleas- 
ure of  seeing  themselves  superior  to  those  that  surround 
them,  and  receiving  the  homage  of  silent  attention  and 
envious  admiration. 

45.  But  vanity  is  sometimes  excited  to  fiction  by  less 
visible  gratifications  ;  the  present  age  abounds  with  a  race 
of  liars  who  are  content  with  the  consciousness  of  false- 
hood and  whose  pride  is  to   deceive  others  without  any 
gain  or  glory  to  themselves.     Of  this  tribe  it  is  the  su- 
preme pleasure  to  remark  a  lady  in  the  play-house  or  the 
park,  and  to  publish,  under  the  character  of  a  man  sud- 
denly enamored,  an  advertisement  in  the  news  of  the 
next  day,  containing  a  minute  description  of  her  person 
and  her  dress. 

46.  From  this  artifice,  however,  no  other  effect  can  be 
expected,  than  perturbations  which  the  writer  can  never 
see,  and  conjectures  of  which  he  can  never  be  informed  : 
some  mischief,  however,  he  hopes  he  has  done  ;  and  to 
have  done  mischief,  is  of  some  importance.     He  sets  his 
invention  to  work  again,  and  produces  a  narrative  of  a 
robbery,  or  a  murder,  with  all  the  circumstances  of  time 
and  place  accurately  adjusted.     This  is  a  jest  of  greater 
effect  and  longer  duration.  If  he  fixes  his  scene  at  a  prop- 
er distance,  he  may  for  several  days  keep  a  wife  in  terror 
for  her  husband,  or  a  mother  for  her  son  ;  and  please  him- 
self with  reflecting,  that  by  his  abilities  and  address  some 
addition  is  made  to  the  miseries  of  life. 

47.  There  is,  I  think,  an  ancient  law  in  Scotland  by 
which   Leaning-making   was  capitally  punished.     I    am, 
indeedj  far  from   desiring   to  increase   in  this  kingdom 
the  number,  of  executions  ;  yet  I  cannot  but  think,  that 
they  who   destroy  the  confidence  of  society,  weaken  the 
credit  of  intelligence,  and  interrupt  the  security  of  life  ; 
harass  the  delicate  with  shame,  and  perplex  the  timorous 
with  alarms;   might  very  properly  be   awakened  to  a 
sense  of  their  crimes,  by  denunciations  of  a   whipping 
post  or  a  pillory  :  since,  rnany.  are  so  sensible  of  right  and 


48         The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady 's  Mox i  T  0 n , 

•wrong,  that  they  have  no  standard  of  actioa  butllie 
nor  feel  guilt,  but  as  they  dread  punishment. 


The  Importance  of  Punctuality. 

1.  TT  is  observed  in  the  writings  of  J3.oifle9  that  the 
A  excellency  of  manufactures  and  facility  of  labor 
would  be  much  promoted,  if  the  various  expedients  and 
contrivances  which  lie  concealed  in  private  hands  were 
by  reciprocal  communications  made  generally  known  ; 
for  there  are  few  operations  that  are  not  performed  by 
one  or  other  -with  -some  peculiar  advantages,  which, 
though  singly  of  little  importance,  would  by  conjunction 
and  concurrence  open  ne-w  inlets  to  knowledge,  and  give 
new  powers  to  diligence. 

2.  There  are  in  like  manner  several  moral  excellencies 
distributed  among  the  various  classes  of  mankind,  which 
he  that  converses  hi  the  world  should  endeavor  to  assem- 
ble, in  himself.     It  wa$  said  by  the  learned  Cujftciufi^  that 
he  never  read  more  than  one  book,  by  which  he  was.  not 
instructed  ;  and  he  that  shall  inquire  after  virtue  with  ar- 
dor and  attention,  will  seldom  find  a  man  by  whose  exam- 
ple or  sentiments  he  may  not  be  improved. 

3.  Every  profession  has  some  essential  and  appropriate 
virtue,  without  which  there"  can  be  no  hope  of  honor  or 
success,  and   which,  as  it  is  more  or  less  cultivated,  con- 
fers  within  its  sphere  Off  .activity  different  degrees  of  merit 
and  reputation.     As  thr  Astrologers   range,  the  subdivis- 
ions of  mankind  under  the  planets  which  they, suppose  to 
influence   their  lives,   the    moralist  may  distribute  them 
according  to  the  virtues  which  they  necessarily  practise, 
and  consider  them  as  distinguished  by  prudence  or  forti- 
tude, diligence  or  patience* 

4.  So  much  are   the  modes  of  excellence  settled  by 
time  and  place,  that  men  maybe  beard  boasting  in  one 
street  of  that  which  they  would  anxiously  conceal  in  ano- 
ther.    The  grounds  of  scorn   and  esteem,   the  topics  of 
praise  and  satire  are  varied  according  tq  the  several  virtues 
or  vices  which  tfa«  course  of  otir  lives  has  dis.po$et«-us  to 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  4-9 

admire  or  abhor  ;  but  he  who  is  solicitous  for  his  own 
improvement,  must  not  sulTer  his  afrairs  to  be  limited  by 
local  reputation,  but  select  from  every  tribe  of  mortals 
their  characteristical  virtues,  ami  constellate  in  himself 
the  scattered  graces  which  shine  single  in  other  men. 

5.  The  chief  praise  to  which  a  trader  generally  aspires 
is  that  o,  punctuality,  or  an  exact  rigorous  observance  of 
commercial  promises  and  engagements  ;  nor  is  there  any 
vice  of  which  he  so   much  dreads  the   imputation,  as  of 
negligence  and"  instability.     This  is  a  quality  which  the 
interest  of  mankind   requires  to  be  disused  through  all 
the  ranks  of  life,  but  which,  however  useful  and  valuable 
may  seem  content  to  want  ;  it  is  considered  as  a  vulgar 
-and  ignoble  virtue,  below  the  ambition   of  greatness  or 
•attention-  of  wit,  scarcely  requisite  among  men  of  gaiety 
arid  spirit,  and  sold  at  its  highest  rate  when  it  is  sacrificed 
-to  a  frolic  or  a  jest. 

6.  Every  man  has  daily  occasion  to  remark  what  vex- 
ations and  inconveniencies  arise  from  this  privilege  of  de- 
ceiving one  another.     The  active  and  vivacious    have  so 
long  disdained  the  restraints  of  truth,  that  promises  and 
appointments  have  lost  their  cogency,   and  both  parties 
iiegiect  their  stipulations,  because  each  concludes  that 
they  will  be  broken  by  the  other. 

7.  Negligence  is   first  admitted   in    trivial  affairs,    and 
strengthened  by  petty  indulgences.     He  that  is  not  yet 
hardened  by  custom,  ventures  not  on  the  violation  of  im- 
portant engagements,   but   thinks  himself  bound  by  his 
word  in  cases  of  property  or  danger,  though   he  allows 
himself  to  forget  at  what  time  he  is  to  meet  ladies  in  the 
park,  or  at  what  tavern  hi-s  friends  are  expecting  him. 

3.  This  laxity  of  honor  would  be  mo-re  tolerable,  if 
it  could  be  restrained  to  the  play-house,  the  ball-room,  or 
the  card-table  ;  yet  even  there  it  is  siviikkntly  trouble- 
some, and  darkens  those  moments  with  expectation,  sus- 
pence,  uncertainty  and  resentment,  which  are  set  aside  for 
the  softer  pleasures  of  life,  and  from  which  we  naturally 
hope  for  unmingied  enjoyment,  and  total  relaxation. 
But  he  that  suffers  the  slightest  breach  in  his  moraiity, 
can  seldom  tell  what  shall  enter  it,  or  how  wide  it  shall 
be  made  ;  when  a  passage  is  opened,  the  influx  of  cor- 
ruption is  every  moment  wearing  down  opposition,  and  by 
slow  degrees  deluges  the  heart.  E 


!!k)         The  Young  Gentkntanand.JLady's  ' 

.  9.  jffiger  entered  the  world  a  youth  .of.  lively  imagina- 
tion, extensive  views,  and  untainted ''principles.  '  His 
curiosity  incited  him  to  range  From  place  to  place,  and 
try  all  the  varieties  of  conversation  ;  hrs  elegance  .of  ad- 
dress and  fertility  of  ideas  gained  hir.i  friends  wherever 
he  appeared  ;  or  at  least  he  found  l\ie  general  kindness  of 
reception  always  shown  to  a  young  man  whose  birth,  and 
fortune  gave  him  a  claim  to  notice,  and  who  has  neither 
by  vice  or.folly  destroyed  his  privileges. 

10.  Aligcr  was  pleased  with  this  general  smile  of  man* 
kind,  and  being  naturally  gentle  and  flexible,  was  indus- 
trious to  preserve  it  by  compliance  and  officiousness,  but 
did  not  suffer  his  desire  of  pleasing  to  vitiate  his  integrity. 
It  was  his  established  maxim,  that  a  promise  is  never  to 
be  broken ;  nor  was  it  without  long  reluctance  that  he 
once  suffered  himself  to  be  drawn  away  from  a  festal  en- 
gagement by  the  importunity  of  another  company. 

i  1.  He  spent  the  evening,  as  is  usual  in  the  rudiments 
of  vice,  with  perturbation  and  imperfect  enjoyment,  and 
met  his  disappointed  friends  in  the  morning  with  confu- 
sion and  excuses.  His  companions,  not  accustomed  to 
such  scrupulous  anxiety,  laughed  .at  his  uneasiness,  com- 
pounded the  offence  for  a  bottle,  gave  him  courage  to 
break  his  word  again,  and  again  levied  the  penalty. 

12.  He  ventured  the  same  experiment  upon  another 
society  ;  and  found  them  equally  ready  to  consider  it  as  a 
venial  fault,  always  incident,  to  a  man  of  quickness  arid 
gaiety  ;  till  by  degrees  he  began  to  think  himself  at  liber-s- 
ty to  follow  the  last  invitation,  and  was  no  longer  shock- 
ed at  the  turpitude  of  falsehood.  He- made  no  difficulty 
to  promise  his  presence  at  distant  places,  and  if  listless- 


entrance. 

13.  He  found  it  so  pleasant  to  live  in  perpetual  vacan- 
cy, that  he  soon  dismissed  his  attention  as  an  useless  in- 
cumbrance,  and  resigned  himself  to  carelessness  and  dis- 
sipation, without  any;  regard  to  the  future  or  the  past,,  or 
a:,y  ether  motive  of  action  than  the  impulse  of  'a  sudden 
desire,  or  the  .attraction  of  immediate  pleasure.  The 
absent  were,  immediately  forgotten,  and  the  hopes  ov 


and  English  'f'edcher's' ASSISTANT,  51 

fears  of  others  had  no  tn'fiiience  upon  .Ills'  conduct.  He 
•vvas  in  speculation  completely  .just,  but  never  kept  fcis 
promise  to  a  creditor  ;  lie  was  benevolent,  but  always  de- 
ceived those  frienrls  whom  he  undertook  to  patronize  or 
assist ;  he  was  prudent,  but  suffered  his  affairs  to  be  embar- 
rassed for  want  of  settling  his  accounts  at  stated  times. 

1.4.  He  Courted  a  young  lady,  and  when  the  settle- 
ments were  drawn,  took  a  ramble  into  the  country  on 
the  day  appointed  to  sign  them. '  He  resolved  to  travel, 
and  sent  his  chests  on  ship-board,  but  delayed  to  follow 
.them  till  he  lost  his  passage.  He  was  summoned  as 'an 
evidence  in  a  cause  of  great  importance,  and  loitered  in 
the  way  till  the  trial  was  past.  It  is  said,  that 'when- Ire 
had  with  great  expense  formed  an  interest  in  a  borough, 
his  opponent  contrived  by  some  agents,  who  knew  his 
temper,  to  lure  him  away  on  the  day  cf  election. 

15.  His  benevolence  draws  him  into  the  commission 
,  cf  a  thousand  crimes,  which  others,    less  kind  or  civil, 

would  escape.  His  courtesy  invites  application,  his  pro- 
mises produce  dependence  ;  he  has  bis  pocket  filled  with 
petitions,  which  he  intends  sometime  to  deliver  and  en- 
force ;  and  his  table  covered  with  letters  of  request,  with 
which  he  promises  to  cc-  nply  ;  but  time  slips  impercepti- 
bly away,  while  he  is  either  idle  or  busy  :  his  friends  lose 
their  opportunities,  and  charge  upon  him  their  miscar- 
riages and  calamities. 

This  character,  however  contemptible,  is  not  peculiar 
to  dUger. 

16.  They  whose  activity  of  imagination  is  often  shift- 
ing the  scenes  of  expectation,    are  frequently   subject  to 
such  sallies  of  caprice  as  make  all  their  actions  fortuitous, 
destroy  the  value  of  their  friendship,  obstruct  the  efficacy 
of  their  virtues,  and  set  them  below  the  meanest  of  those 
that  persist  in  their  resolutions,  execute 'what  they  design, 
and  perform  what  ti*ey  have  promised. 


Exercise  end  Temperance  the  best  Preservative  of  Health. 

I'TQODILY  labor  is  of  two  kinds,  either  that  which 
jLJ  a  man  submits  to  for  his  livelihood,  or  that  which 


52         The  Young  Gentleman  -and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

he  undergoes  for  his  pleasure.  The  latter  of  them  gen- 
erally changes  the  name  of  labor  for  that  of  exercise, 
but  differs  only  from  ordinary  labor  as  it  rises  from  an- 
other motive. 

A  country  life  abounds  in  both  these  kinds  of  labor, 
and  for  that  reason  gives  a  man  a  greater  stock  of  health, 
and  consequently  a  more  perfect  enjoyment  of  himself, 
than  any  other  way  of  life. 

2.  I  consider  the  body  as  a  system  of  tubes  and  glands, 
or  to  use  a  more  rustic  phrase,  a  bundle  of  pipes  and  strain- 
ers, fitted  to  one  another  after  so  wonderful   a  manner, 
as  to  make  a  proper  engine  for  the  soul  to  work  with. 
This  description  does  not  only  comprehend   the   bowels, 
bones,  tendons,  veins,  nerves  and  arteries^  but  every  mus- 
cle and  every  ligature,  which  is  a  composition  of  fibres, 
that  are  so  many  imperceptible  tubes  or  pipes  interwoven 
on  all  sides  with  invisible  glands  or  strainers. 

3.  This  general  idea  of  a  human  body,  without  con- 
sidering it  in  its  niceties  of  anatomy,  let  us  see  how  abso- 
lutely necessary  labor  is  for  the  right  preservation  of  it* 
There  must  be  frequent  motions  and  agitations,  to  mix, 
digest,  and  separate  the  juices  contained  in  it,  as  well  as 
to  clear  and  disperse  the  infinite  le  of  pipes  and  strainers 
of  which  it  is  composed,  and  to  give  their  solid  parts  a 
more  firm   and    lasting    tone.     Labor   or  exercise  fer- 
ynents  the  humors,  casts  them  into  their  proper  channels, 
throws  off  redundancies,  and  helps  nature  in  those  secret 
distributions,  without  which  the  body  cannot  subsist  in  its 
vigor,  nor  the  soul  act  with  cheerfulness. 

4.  I  might  here  mention  the   effects  which  this  has 
upon  all  the  faculties  of  the  mind,  by  keeping  the  under- 
standing clear,  the  imagination  untroubled,  and  refining 
those  spirits  that  are  necessary  for  the  proper  exertion  of 
our  intellectual  faculties,  during  the  present  laws  of  union 
between  soul  and  body.     It  is  to  a  neglect  in  this  particu- 
lar that, we  must  ascribe  the  spleen,  which  is  so  frequent 
in  men  of  studious  and  sedentary  tempers,  as  well  as  the 
vapors  to  which  those,  of  the  other  sex  are  so  often  subject* 

Had  not  exercise  been  absolutely  necessary  for  our 
•well  being,  nature  would  not  have  made  the  body  so  prop- 
er for  it,  by  giving  such  an  activity  to  the  limbs,  and 

a  pliancy  to  every  part,  as  necessarily  produce  those 


and  English  Teachers  ASSISTANT.  53 

compressions,  extentions,  contortions,  dilatations,  and  all 
other  kinds  of  motions  that  are  necessary  for  the  preserv- 
ation of  such  a  system  of  tubes  and  glands  as  has  been 
before  mentioned.  And  that  we  might  not  want  induce- 
ments to  engage  us  in  such  an  exercise  of  the  body  as  is 
proper  for  its  welfare,  it  is  so  ordered,  that  nothing 
valuable  c?,n  be  procured  without  it.— Not  to  mention 
riches  and  honor,  even  food  and  raiment  are  not  to  be 
come  at  without  the  toil  of  the  hands  and  sweat  of  the 
brow?.  » 

6*  Providence  furnishes  materials,  but  expects  that  we 
should  work  them  up  ourselves-  The  earth  must  be  labor- 
ed before  it  gives  his  increase,  and  when  it  is  forced  into  its 
several  products,  how  many  hands  must  they  pass  through 
before  they  are  fit  for  use  ?  Manufactures,  trade,  and  ag- 
riculture, naturally  employ  more  than  nineteen  parts  of 
the  species  in  twenty  :  and  as  for  those  who  arc  not  obli- 
ged to  labor,  by  the  condition  in  which  they  arc  born, 
they  are  more  miserable  than  the  rest  of  mankind,  unless 
they  indulge  themselves  in  that  voluntary  labor  which 
goes  by  the  name  of  exercise. 

7.  My  friend  Sir  Roger  hath  been  an  indefatigable  man 
in  business  of  this  kind,  and  has  hung  several  parts  of  his 
house  with  the  trophies  of  his  farmer  labors.     The  wails 
of  his  great  hall  are  covered  with  the  horns  of  several 
kinds  of  deer  that    he  has  killed  in  the  chace,  which  he 
thinks  the  most  valuable  furniture  of  his  house,  as  they 
a  fiord  him  frequent  topics  of  discourse,  and  show  that  he 
has  not  been  idle. 

8.  At  the  lower  end  of  the  hall  is  a  large  otter's   skin 
stuffed  with  hay,  which  his  mother  ordered  to  be  hung-  up 
in  that  manner,  and  the  knight  looks  upon   it  with  great 
satisfaction,  because  it  seems  he  was  but  nine  years  old, 
when  his  dog  killed   him.     A  little  room  adjoining1  to  the 
hall  is  a   kind  of  arsenal  filled  with  guns  of  several  sizes 
find  inventions,   with  which   the  knight    has  made  great 
havock  in  the  woods,  and  destroyed  many  thousands  of 
pheasants,  partridges  and  woodcocks.     His  stable   doors 
are  patched  with    noses  that  belonged  to  foxes  of  the 
knight's  own  hunting  down. 

9.  Sir  Roger  showed  me  one  of  them  that,  for  distinct- 
ion  sake;  has  a  brass  nail  struck  through  it,  which  cost 

E  2 


54        The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, - 

him  about  fifteen  hours  riding,  carried  him  through  half  a 
dozen  counties,  killed  him  a  brace  of  geldings,  and  lost 
about  half  his  dogs.  This  the  knight  looks  upon  as  one 
of  the  greatest  exploits  of  his  life. 

10.  The  perverse   widow,  whom  I  have   given  some 
account  of,  was  the  death  of  several  foxes  ;  for  Sir  Roger 
has  told  me,  that  in  the  course  of  his  amours  he  patched 
the  western  door  of  his  stable.     Whenever  the  widow  was, 
cruel,  the  foxes  were  sure  to  pay  for  it.     In  proportion  as 
his  passion  for  the  widow  abated  and  old  age  came  on,  he 
left  off  fox  hunting  ;  but  a  hare  is  not  yet  safe  that  sits 
within  ten  miles  of  his  house. 

1 1.  There  is  m;  kind  of  exercise  which  I  would  so  re- 
commend to  my  readers  of  both  sexes  as  this  of  riding, 
as  there  is  none  which  so  much  conduces  to  health,  and  is 
every  way  accommodated  to  the  body,  according  to  the 
idea  which  I  have  given  of  it.     Dr.  Sydenham  is  very  lav- 
ish in  his  praises;  and  if  the  English  reader  will  see  the 
mechanical  effects  of  it  described  at  length,  he  may  find 
them  in  a  book  published  not  many  years  since,  under  the 
title  of  Meclicina  Gymnastica. 

12.  For  my  own  part  when  I  am  in  town,  for  want  of 
these  opportunities,  I  exercise  myself  an  hour  every  morn- 
ing upon  a  dumb  bell  that  is  placed  in   a  corner  of  my 
loom,  and  pleases  me  the  more    because  it  does  every 
thing  I  require  in  the  moat  profound  silence.    My  landla- 
dy and  her  daughters  are   so  well  acquainted   with   my 
hours  cf  exercise,  that  they  never,  come,  into  my  room  to 
disturb  me  whilst  I  am  ringing. 

13.  When  I  was  some  years  younger  than  I  am  at  pres- 
ent, I  used  to  employ  myself  in  a  more  laborious  diversion, 
v/hich  I  learned  from  a  Latin  treatise  of  exercise,  that  id. 
written  with  great  erudition  :  It  is  there  called  the  Scioma- 
thia  or  the  fighting  with  a  man's  own  shadow,  and  consists 
in    the   brandishing  cf  two  short  sticks  grasped  in  each 
hand,  and  loaded  with  plugs  of  lead  at  either  end.     This 
opens  the  chest,  exercises  the  limbs,  and  gives  a  man  all 
the  pleasure  of  boxing,  without  the  blows. 

14.  I   could  wish  that   several  learned  men  would  lay 
out  that  time  which  they  employ  in  controversies,  and 
disputes  about  nothing,  in  this  method  of  fighting  with  their 
own  shadows.     It  might  conduce  very  much  to  evaporate 


end  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  55 

the  spleen,   which  makes  them  uneasy  to  the  public  as 
wall  as  to  themselves. 

As  I  am  a  compound  of  soul  and  body,  I  consider  my- 
self as  obliged  to  a  double  scheme  of  duties  ;  and  think  I 
have  not  fulfilled  the  business  of  the  day  when  I  do  not 
thus  employ  the  one  in  labor  and  exercise,  as  well  as  the 
other  in  study  and  contemplation. 

1 5.  There  is  a  story  in  the  Arabian  Nights  Tales,  of  a 
king-  who  had  long  languished  under  an  ill  habit  of  body, 
and  had   taken  abundance  of  remedies  to  no  purpose* 
At  length,  says  the  fable,  a  physician  cured  him  Uy  the 
following  method  :  he  took  an  hollow  ball  of  wood,  and 
filled  it   with  several  drugs  ;  after  which  he  closed  it  up 
so  artificially  tbat  nothing  appeared.     He  likewise  took  a 
mall,  and  after  having  hollowed  the  handle,  and  that  part 
which  strikes  the  ball,  inclosed  in  them  several  drugs  af- 
ter the  same  manner  as  in  the  ball  itself. 

16.  He  then  ordered  the  sultan  who  was  his  patient,  to 
exercise  himself  early  in  the  morning  with  these  rightly 
prepared  instruments,  till  such  time  as  he  should  sweat  ; 
when  as  the  story  goes,  the  virtue  of  the  medicaments 
perspiring  through  the  weed,  had  so  good  an  influence  on 
the  sultan's  constitution  that  they  cured  him  of  an  indis- 
position which  all  the  compositions  he  had  taken  imtardly 
had  not  been  able  to  remove. 

17.  This  eastern  allegory  is  finely  contrived  to  show  us 
how  beneficial  bodily  labor  is  to  health,  and  that  exercise 
is  the  most  effectual  physic.    1  have  described  in  my  hun- 
dred and  fifteenth  paper,   from  the  general  structure  and 
mechanism  of  an  human  body,  how  absolutely  necessary 
exercise  is   for  its  preservation  ;  I  shall  in  this  place  re- 
commend another  great  .preservative  of  health,  which  in 
many  cases  produces    the  same  effects  as  exercise,  and 
may  in  sowie  measure,  supply  its  place,  where  opportuni- 
ties of  exercise  are  wanting. 

38.  The  preservative  I  am  speaking  of  is  Temperance, 
which  Las  those  particular  advantages  above  all  other 
means  of  health,  that  it  may  be  practised  by  all  ranks  and 
conditions,  at  any  season^  or  in  any  place.  It  is  a  kind  of 
regimen  into  which  every  man  may  put  himself,  without 
interruption  tcr  business,  expense  of  money,  or  loss  of  time.' 
If  exercise  thro  AYS  off  all  superfluities,  temperance,  pre- 


56       The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

vents  them  :  if  exercise  clears  the  vessels,  temperance 
neither  satiates  nor  over-strains  them  :  if  exercise  raises 
proper  ferments  in  the  humors,  and  promotes  the  circula- 
tion of  the  blood,  temperance  gives  nature  her  full  play, 
and  enables  he?  to  exert  herself  in  all  her  force  and  vigor: 
If  exercise  dissipates  a  growing  distemper,  temperance 
starves  it. 

19.  Physic,  for  the  most  part,  is  nothing'  else  but  the 
substitute  of  exercise  or  temperance.     Medicines  are  in- 
deed absolutely  necessary  in  acute  distempers,  that  cannot 
\vait  the  slow  operations  of  these  two  great  instruments  of 
health  :  but  did  men  live  m  an  habitual  course  of  exercise 
and   temperance,  there  \vorJd  be  but  little  occasion  for 
them.     Accordingly  we  find  that  those  parts  of  the  world 
are  the  most  healthy,  where  they  subsist  by  the  chace  ; 
and  that  men  lived  longest  when  their  lives  were  employ- 
ed ia  hunting,  and  when  they  hadlittle  food  besides  what 
they  caught. 

20.  Blistering,  cupping,  bleeding,'  are  seldom  of  use 
to  any  but  to  the  idle  and  intemperate  ;  as  all  those  in- 
ward applications,  which  are  so  much  in-  practice  among 
us,  are,  for  the    most  part,  nothing  else  but  expedients 
to  make  luxury  consistent  with  health.     The   apothecary 
is  perpetually  employed  in  countermining  the  cook  and 
the  vintner.     It  is  said  of  Diogenes,  that  meeting  a  young 
iwan  who   was  going  to  a  feast,  he  took  him  up  in  the 
street,  and  carried  him  home  to  his  friends,  as  one  who 
was  running  into  imminent  danger,  had  he  not  prevented 
hina. 

21.  What  would  that  philosopher   have  said,  had  he- 
been  present  at  the  gluttony  of  a  modern  meal  I  would  not 
he  have  thought   the  master  of  a  family  mad,  and  hcivo 
begged  his  servant  to  tie  down  his  hands,  had  he  seen  him 
devour  fowl,  fish,  ami  flesh  ;  swallow  oil  and  vinegar,  wines 
and  spices  ;  throw  down  salads  of  twenty  different  herbs, 
sauces  of  an  hundred  ingredients,  confections  and  fruits  of 
numberless  sweets  and  flavors  ?   what  unnatural   motions 
and  counter-ferments  must  such  a  medley  of  intemperance 
produce  in  the  body  ?  For  my  part,  when  I  behold  a  fash- 
ionable table  set  out  in  all  its  magnificence,  I  fancy,  that  I 
See  gouts  and  dropsies,   fevers  and  lethargies,  with  other 
innumerable  distempers,  lying  in  ambuscade  among  the 
dishes. 


nglish  Teticfar's  A s  %  I  s  T  XN  r .  &? 

%*2.  Nature  delights  in  the  most  plain  and  simple  diet. 
Every  animal, -but  man,  keeps  to  one  dish.  Herbs  are 
the  food  of  this  species,  fish  of  that,  and  flesh  of  a  third. 
Man  falls  upon jevery  tiling  that  comes  in  his  way  ;  not 
the  smallest  fruk  or  excrescence  of  the  earth,  scarce  a  ber- 
ry, or  mushroom  can  escape  him. 

It  is  impossible  to  lay  down  any  determinate  rule  for 
temperance,  because  what  is  luxury  in  one  may  be  tempe- 
rance in  another  }  but  there 'are  few  that  have  lived  any 
time  in  the  world,  who  are  not  judges  of  their  own  con- 
stitutions, so  far  as  to  know  what  kinds  and  what  propor- 
tions of  food  do  best  agree  with  them. 

•  23.  Were  I  to  consider  my  readers  as  my  patients,  and 
to  prescribe  such  a  kind  of  temperance  as  is  accommoda- 
ted to  all  'persons*  and  such  as  is  particularly  suitable  to 
our  climate  and  way  of4ivingv!  would  copy  the  following 
rules  of  a  very  -eminent  physician.  Make  your  whole* 
repast  out  of  one  dish.  If  you  indulge  in  a  second,  avoid 
ng  any  thing  strong1  till  you  have  finished  your 
meal :  at  the  same  time  abstain  from  a)l  sauces,  or  at  least 
such  as  are  not  the  most  plain  and  simple; 

24.  A  man  could  not  be  well  guilty  of  gluttony,  ifhe' 
stuck  to  these  few  obvious  and  easy  rules.-  In  the  first: 
ease,  there  would  be  no  variety  of  tastes  to  solicit  his  palate, 
and  occasion  excess  j  nor  in  the  second  any  artificial  pro- 
vokatives  to  relieve  satiety,  and  create  a  false  appetite.: 
Were  I  to  prescribe  a  rule  for  drinking,  k  should  be r 
formed  upon. -a  snying  quoted  by  Sir  William  Temple  :  T/ie 
Jirst  glass  for  my  self y  the  second  for  my  friends^  the  third 
for  goad  humor,  and*  the  fourth  for  my  enemies*  But  be- 
cmise  i.t  is  impossible  for  one  who  lives  in  the  world  to  diet 
hims'elf  always  hv  so  philosophical  a'prianner,  I  think  every 
man  shot ild  have  his  days  of  abstinence,  according  asliis 
constitution  will  permit. 

25;  -These1  are  £reat  relieves  to  nature,  as  they  qualify 
her  far  struggling  with1  hunger  and  thirst,  whenever  any' 
distemper;or  duty  of  life  rrtay  pvk  her  upon  such  diificul- 
tiv.s  ;  and  at  the  same  time  give  her  an  opportumty  of 
extricating  herself  from  her  oppressions,  and  recovering' 
the  several  tones  and  springs  of  her  distended  vessels. 
Besides  that,  abstinence  well  timed  often  kills  a  sickness  in 
embryoj  and  destroys  the  iir.st  seeds  of  aii  ind 


,       .  .      .... 

58  .       J%<?  Fa:^  Gentleman  ancfLadtfs  MONITOR, 

26.  It  is  observed. by  two  or  three  ancient  authors*  that 
^ccrate^  notwithstanding  he  lived  in  Athens  during  that, 
great  plague,  which  has  made  so.  much- noise  .through  all 
ages,  and  has  been  celebrated  at  diffcr.e^t  times  by  sucf  • 
^'minent  hands  ;  I  say,  notwithstanding  Ihat  he  lived  in  the 
time  of  this  devouring  pestilence,  he  never  oaugfat  tlje  least 
infection,  which  those  writers  .unanimously,  ascribe  to  that 
uninterrupted  temperance  whicji  he  always  observed. 

27.  And  here   I  cannot  but  mention  an  obseryatiort 
which  I  have  often  made,  upon  reading  the  lives  of  the 
philosophers,  and  comparing  them  with  any  series  of  kings 
or  great  men  of  the  same  number.     If  >ve  consider  these 
ancient  sages,  a  great  part  of  whose  philosophy  consisted 
in  a  temperate  and  abstemious  course  of  life,  cue  would 
think  the  life  of  a  philosopher  and  the  life  of  a  man  were 
of  two  different  dates.     For  we  find,  that  the  generality 
ef  these  wise  men  were  nearer  a  hundred  than  sixty  years, 
of  age  at  the  time  of  their  respective  deaths. 

28.  But  the  most  remarkable  instance  of  the  efficacy 
of  temperance  towards  the  procuring  of  long  life,  is  what 
we  meet  with  in  a  little  book  published  by  Lewis  Cornaro 
the  Venetian;  which  I  the  rather  mention^  because  it  is 
of  undoubted  credit,    as  the    late    Venetian  ambassador3 
who  was  of  the   same   family,    attested  more   than   once 
in  conversation,  \vhen  he  resided  in-  England.     Cornaro^ 
who  was  the  author  of  the  little  treatise  I  am  mentioning', 
was  of  an  infirm  constitution,   till  about  forty,   when  by 
obstinately  persisting  in  an  exact  course  of  temperance, 
he  recovered  a  perfect  state  of  health  ;  insomuch  that  at 
fourscore  he  published  his  book  which  has  been  translated 
into  E?i£lishi    under  the  title  of,    Sure  and  certain,  methods 
of  attaining  a  long  and  healthy  life. 

29.  He   lived  to  give  a  third  or   fourth   edition  of  it. 
and  after  having  passed  his  hundredth  year,  died  without 
pain  or  agony,  and  like  one  who  falls  asleep.     The  trea- 
tise I  mention    has  been     taken    notice   of  by    several 
eminent   authors,   and  is  written  with  such   a  spirit  of 
cheerfulness^ religion  and  good  sense,,  as  are  the  natural 
concomitants  of  temperance  and  sobriety.     The  mixture^ 
of  the  old  man  in.  it  h>  rather  a  recommendation  than,  a  f| 
discrecth  t 


and  .English  TeacAer's  ASSISTANT*  59 

The  Duty  of 


1.  TT  is  f  elated1  by  Quintus  Curtius^  that  the  Pe'rtian* 
JL  always  conceived  a  lasting  and  invincible  contempt 
of  a  man  ifc'ho  had  violated  the  laws  of  secrecy  :  for  they 
thought,  that  however  he  might  be  deficient  in  the  qual- 
ities requisite  to  actual  excellence,  the  negative  virtues  at 
least  were  always  in  his  power,  and  though  he  perhaps 
could  not  speak  well  jf  he  was  to  try,  it  was  still  easy  for 
him  not  to  !speak. 

2.  In  this  opinion  of  the  easiness  of  secrecy,  thejr 
seem  to  have  considered  it  as  opposed,  not  to  treachery, 
but  loquacity,  .and  to   have   conceived  the  man,   whom 
they  thus  .censured,  not  frighted  by  menrces  to  reveal, 
or  bribed  by  promises  to  'betray,  but  incited  by  the  mere 
pleasure  of  tailing,  or  some  other  motive  equally  trivial, 
to  lay  open  Ins  heart  without  reflection,  and  to  let  whatev*- 
er  he  knew  slip  from  him,  only  for  want  of  power  to 
retain  it. 

3.  Whether,    by    their   settled  and   avowed  scorn  of 
thoughtless  -talkers,  the  Persians  were   able  to  diffuse  to 
any  great   extent,  the  virtue  of  taciturnity,  we  arc  hin- 
dered by  the  distances  of  those  times  from  being  able  to 
discover,    there   being   very  few  memoirs  remaining  of 
the  court  of  Pcrsefiolis,  nor  any  distinct  accounts  handed 
down   to  us  of  their  office-clerks,  their  ladies  of  the  bed- 
chamber, their  attornies,  their  chamber-maids,  or  their 
footmen^ 

4.  In    these   latter  ages1,  though   the  old   animosity 
against  a  prattler  is  still,  retained,  it  appears  wholly  to 
'have  lost  its  effects  upon  the  condutt  of  mankind;  for 
secrets  are  so  seldom  kept,  that  it  may  with  some  reason 
be  doubted,  whether  the  ancients  were  not  mistaken  in 
their  first  postulate,   Whether  the  quality  of  retention  be 
so  generally  bestowed,  and  whether  a  secret  has  not  some 
subtle  volatility,  by  Which  it  escapes  almost  impercepti- 
bly at  the  smallest  vent  ;  or  some  power  of  fermentation, 
by  which  it  expands  itself  so  as  to  burst  the  heart  that 
will  not  give  it  way. 

5.  Those  that  study  either  the  body  or  the  mind  of 
very  often  find  the  most  specious  and  pleasing  the- 


60        The    Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

ory  falling  under  the  weight  of  contrary  experience  : 
and  instead  of  gratifying  their  vanity  by  inferring  effects 
from  causes,  they  are  always  reduced  at  last  to  conjecture 
causes  from  effects.  That  it  is  easy  to  be  secret  the 
speculatist  can  demonstrate  in  his  retreat,  and  therefore 
thinks  himself  justified  in  placing  confidence  ;  the  man 
of  the  world  knows,  that,  whether  difficult  or  not,  it  is 
uncommon,  and  therefore  finds  himself  rather  inclined  to 
search  after  the  reason  of  this  universal  failure  in  one  of 
the  most  important  duties  of  society. 

6.  The  vanity  of  being  known  to  be  trusted  with  a  se- 
cret is  generally  one  of  the  chief  motives  to  disclose  it ; 
for  however  absurd  it  may  be  thought  to  boast  an  honor, 
by  an  act  that  shows  that  it  was  conferred  without  merit, 
yet  most  men  seem  rather  inclined  to  confess  the  want  of 
virtue  than  of  importance,  and  more  willingly  show  their 
influence  and  their  power,  though  at  the  expense  of  their 
probity,   than   glide  through   life  with  no  other  pleasure 
than  the  private  consciousness  of  fidelity  :   which,  while  it 
is  preserved  must  be  without  praise,  except  from  the  sin- 
gle person  who  tries  and  knows  it. 

7.  There  are  many  ways  of  telling  a  secret,  by  which 
a  man  exempts  himself  from  the  reproaches  of  his  con- 
science, and  gratifies  his  pride  without   suffering  himself 
to  believe  that  he  impairs  his  virtue.     He  tells  the  pri- 
vate affairs  of  his  patron,  or  his  friend  only  to  those  from 
•whom   he  would  not  conceal  his  own  ;   he  tells  them  to 
those,  who  have  no  temptation  to  betray  their  trust,  or 
with  a   denunciation  of  a  certain  forfeiture  of  his  friend- 
ship, if  he  discovers  that  they  become  public. 

8.  Secrets  are  very  frequently  told  in  the   first  ardor 
of  kindness,  or  of  love,  for  the  sake  of  proving  by  so  im- 
portant a   sacrifice,  the  sincerity  of  professions,  or  the 
warmth  of  tenderness  ;  but  with  this  motive,  though  it 
be   sometimes  strong  in  itself,  vanity    generally  concurs, 
since  every  man  naturally  desires  to  be  most  esteemed  by 
those  whom  he  loves,   or  with  whom   he  converses,  with 
whom  be  passes  ft  is  hours  of  pleasure,  and  to  whom  he 
retires  from  busr  ess  and  from  care. 

9«  When  the  Discovery  of  secrets  is  under  considera- 
tion, there  is  always  a  distinction  carefully  to  be  made 
between  our  sown  and  those  of  another,  those  of  which 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  61 

we  are  fully  masters  as  they  effect  only  our  own  interest, 
and  those  which  are  repositecl  with  us  in  trust,  and  in- 
volve the  happiness  or  convenience  of  such  as  we  have 
•no  right  to  expose  to  hazard  by  experiments  upon  then* 
lives,  without  their  consent.  To  tell  our  own  secrets 
•is  generally  folly,  but  that  folly  is  without  guilt;  to 
communicate  those  with  which  we  are  entrusted  is  always 
treachery*  and  treachery  for  the  most  part  combined 
•with  folly. 

10.  There  have,  indeed,   been  some  enthusiastic  and 
irrational  zealots  for  friendship,    who   have  maintained, 
and  perhaps  believed    that  one   friend  has  a  right  to  all 
that  is  in  possession  of  another  :   and  that  therefore  in  is  a 
violation  of  kindness  to  exempt  any  secret  from  his  bound- 
less confidence  ;  accordingly   a  late  female  minister  of 
state  has  been  shameless  enough  to  inform  the  world,  that 
she  used,  when   she  wanted  to  -exact  any  thing  from  her 
sovereign,   to  remind  her  of  Montaigne's  reasoning,   who 
has  determined,  that  to  tell  a  secret  to  a  friend  is  no  breach 
of  fidelity,  because  the  number  of  persons  trusted  is  not 
multiplied,  a  man  and  his  friend  being  virtually  the  same. 

11.  That   such  a  fallacy   could  be   imposed   uj|»n  any 
human  understanding,  or  that  an  author  could  have  been 
imagined  to  advance  a  position  so  remote  from  truth  and 
reason  any  otherwise  than  as  a  declaimed,  to  show  to  what 
extent  he  could  stretch  his  imagination,   and  with  what 
strength  he  could  press  his  principle,  would  scarcely  have 
been  credible,  had  not  this  lady  kindly  shown  vis  how  far 
weakness  maybe  deluded,  or  indolence  amused. 

12.  But  since  it  appears,    that  even  this   sophistry  has 
been  able,   with  the  help  of  a  strong  desire  to  repose  in 
quiet  upon  the  understanding  of  another,  to  mislead  hon- 
est intentions,  and  an  understanding  not  contemptible,  it 
may  not  be  superfluous  to  remark,  that  those  things  which  . 
are  common  among  friends  are  only  such  as  either  pos- 
sesses in  his  own  right,  and  can  alienate  or  destroy  with- 
out injury,  to  any  other  person.     Without  this  limitation, 
confidence  must   run  on  without  end,  the   second  person 
may  tell  the  secret  to  the  third  upon  the  same  principle 
as  he  received  it  from  the  first,  and  the  third  may  hand 
it  forward  to  a  fourth,  till  at  last  it  is  told  in  the  round  of 
friendship  to  thevn  from  whom  it  was  the  first  intention 
chiefly  to  conceal  it.  F 


62         The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

13.  The   confidence  which  Caius  has  of  the   faithful- 
ness of  Titus  is  nothing  more  than  an  opinion  which  him- 
self cannot  know  to  be  true,  and  which  Claudius,  who  first 
tells  his  secret  to  Caius,  may  know,  at  least  may  suspect  to 
be  false  ;  and  therefore  the  trust  is  transferred  by  Cains, 
if  he  reveal  what  has  been  told  him,  to  one  from   whom 
the  person  originally  concerned  would  probably  have  with- 
held it  ;  and  whatever  may  be  the  event,  Caius  has  haz- 
arded the  happiness  of  his  friend,  without  necessity  and 
without  permission,  and  has  put  that  trust  in  the  hand  of 
fortune  which  was  given  only  to  virtue. 

14.  All  the  arguments  upon  which  a  man  who  is  tell- 
ing the  private  affairs  of  another  may  ground  his  confi- 
dence in  security,  he  must  upon  reflection  know  to  be  un- 
certain, because  he  finds  them  without  effect  upon  himself* 
When  he  is  imagining  that  Titus  will  be  cautious  from  a 
regard  to  his  interest,  his  reputation,  or  his  duty,  he  ought 
to  reflect  that  he  is  himself  at  that  instant  acting  in  oppo- 
sition to  all  these  reasons,  and  revealing  what  interest,  rep- 
utation and  duty  direct  him  to  conceal. 

15.  Every  one  feels  that  he  should  consider  the  man 
incap^le  of  trust,  who  believed  himself  at  liberty  to  tell 
whatever  he  knew  to  the  first  whom  he  should  conclude 
deserving  of  his  confidence  :  therefore  Caius,  in  admitting 
Titus  to  the  affairs  imparted  only  to  himself,  violates  his 
faith,  since  he  acts  contrary  to  the  intention  of  Claudius, 
to  whom  that  faith  was  given.     For  promises  of  friend* 
ship  are,  like  all  others,  useless  and  vain,  unless  they  are 
made  in  some  known  sense,  adjusted  and  acknowledged  by 
both  parties. 

16.  I   am  not   ignorant  that  many  questions  may  be 
started  relating  to  the  duty  of  secrecy,  where  the  affairs 
ar<p  of  public  concern  ;  where  subsequent  reasons  may 
arise  to  alter  the  appearance  and  nature  of  the  trust  ;  that 
the  manner  in  which  the  secret  was  told  may  change  the 
degree  of  obligation  ;  and  that  the  principles  upon  which 
a  man  is  chosen  for  a  confident  may  not  always  equally 
constrain  him. 

17.  But  these  scruples,  if  not  too  intricate,  are  of  too 
extensive  consideration  for  my  present  purpose,  nor  are 
they  such  as  generally  occur  in  common  life  ;  and  though 
casuistical  knowledge  be  useful  in  proper  hands,  yet  it 


and  English  Teac/ter's  ASSISTANT.  63 

ought  by  no  means  to  be  carelessly  exposed,  since  most  will 
use  it  rather  to  lull  than  awaken  their  own  consciences ;  and 
the  threads  of  reasoning,  on  which  truth  is  suspended,  are 
frequently  drawn  to  such  subtlety,  that  common  eyes  can- 
not perceive,  and  common  sensibility  cannot  feel  them. 

18.  The  whole  doctrine  as  well  as  practice  of  secrecy 
is  so  perplexing  and  dangerous,  that,  next  to  him  who  is 
compelled  to  trust,   I   think  him  unhappy  who  is  chosen 
to  be  trusted  ;  for  he  is  often  involved  in  scruples  without 
the  liberty  of  calling  in  the  help  of  any  other  understand* 
ing  ;  he  is  frequently  drawn  into  guilt,  under  the  appear- 
ance of  friendship  and  honesty  ;  and  sometimes  subjected 
to  suspicion  by  the  treachery  of  others,  who  are  engaged 
without  his  knowledge  in  the  same  schemes  ;   for  he  that 
has  one  confident  has  generally  more,  and  when  he  is  at 
last  betrayed,  is  in  doubt  on  whom  he  shall  fix  the  crime. 

19.  The  rules  therefore  that  I  shall  propose  concerning 
secrecy,  and  from  which  I  think  it  not  safe  to  deviate, 
without  long  and  ^fxact  deliberation,  are — Never  to  so- 
licit the  knowledge  of  a  secret.     Not   willingly  nor  with- 
out many  limitations,  to  accept  such  confidence  When  it  is 
offered.     When  a  secret  is  once  admitted,  to  consider  the 
trust  as  of  a  very  high  nature,  important  to  society,  and 
sacred  as  truth,  and  therefore  not  to  be   violated  for  any 
incidental  convenience,  or  slight  appearance  of  contrary 
fitness. 


Of  Cheerfulness. 

t.T  HAVE  always  preferred  cheerfulness  to  mirth.  The 
A  latter  I  consider  as  an  act,  the  former  as  a  habit  of 
the  mind.  Mirth  is  short  and  transient,  cheerfulness 
fixed  and  permanent.  Those  are  often  raised  into  the 
greatest  transports  of  mirth,  who  are  subject  to  the  greatest 
depressions  of  melancholy  ;  on  the  contrary  cheerfulness 
though  it  does  not  give  the  mind  such  an  exquisite  glad- 
ness, prevents  us  from  falling  into  any  depths  of  sorrow. 
Mirth  is  like  a  flash  of  lightning  that  breaks  'through  a 
gloom  of  clouds,  and  glitters  fora  moment ;  cheerfulness 
keeps  up  a  kind  of  day  light  in  the  mind,  and  fills  it  with 
a  steady  and  perpetual  serenity. 


64         The  Young  Gentlemen  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

2.  Men  of  austere  principles  look  upon  mirth  as  too 
vrantoa  and  dissolute  for  a  state  of  probation,  and  13  filled 
v»~ith  a   certain  triumph  and  insolence  of  heart  that  is  in- 
consistent with  a  life   which  is  every  moment  obnoxious 
to  the  greatest  dangers.     Writers  of  this  complexion  have 
observed,  that  the  sacred  person  who- was  the  great  pattern 
of  perfection,  was  never  seen  to  laugh. 

3.  Cheerfulness  of  mind  is  not  liable  to  any  of  these 
exceptions  ;  it  is    of  a  serious  and  composed  nature  ;  it 
does  not  throw  the  mind  into  a  condition  improper  for  the 
present  state  of  humanity,  and  is  very  conspicuous  in  the 
characters  of  those  who   are  looked  upon  as  the  greatest 
philosophers  among  the  heathens,  as  well  as  among  those 
•who  have  been   deservedly  esteemed  as  saints  and  holy 
men  among  Christians. 

4.  If  we  consider   cheerfulness  in   three   light?-,   with: 
regard  to  ourselves,  to  those  we  converse  with,  and  to  the 
great  Author  of  our  being,  it  will  not  a  little  recommend 
itself  on   each  of  these  accounts.     The  man   who  is  pos- 
sessed of  this  excellent  frame  of  mind,  is  not  only  easy  in 
his  thoughts,  but  a  perfect  master  of  all  the  powers  and 
faculties  of  the  soul :   his  imagination  is  always  clear,  and 
his  judgment  undisturbed  :   his  temper  is  even  and  unruf- 
fled, whether  in    action  or  solitude.     He   comes  with   a 

•relish  to  all  those  goods  which  nature  has  provided  for 
him,  tastes  all  the  pleasures  of  the  creation  which  are 
poured  about  him,  and  does  not  feel  the  full  weight  of 
those  accidental  evils  which  may  befal  him. 

5.  If  we  consider  him  in  relation  to  the  persons  whom 
he   converses   with,  it  naturally  produces  love   and   [good- 
will-towards  him.     A  cheerful   mind  is  noVonly  disposed 
to  be  affable  and  obliging,  but  raises  the  same  good  humor 
in   those  who  come  within    its   influence.     A  man  finds 
himself  pleased  he  does  not  know  why,  with  the  cheerful- 
ness of  his  companion  :  it  is  like  a  sudden  sun  shine  'that 
awakens  a  secret  delight  in  the  mind,  without  her  attend- 
ing  to  it.     The   heart   rejoices  of  its  own   accoi4d,   and 
naturally  flows  out  into  friendship  end  benevolence  towards 
the  person  who  has  so  kindly  an  effect  upon  it. 

6.  When  I  consider  this  cheerful  state  cf  mind  in  its 
'  relation,   I  cannot  but,  look  upon   it   as  a  constant 

al   gratitude  to  the   great  Author  of  i^luie.     An 


und  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  65 

Inward  cheerfulness  is  an  implicit  praise  and  tbanksgivinr 
to  Providence  under  all  its  dispensations.  It  is  a  kind 
of  acquiescence  in  the  state  wherein  we  are  placed,  and  a 
secret  approbation  of  the  Divine  will  in  his  conduct  to- 
wards man.  . 

7.  There  are  but  t-vo  t.hrnf;s,  which,  in  my  opinion,  can 
reasonably  deprive  us  of  this  cheerfulness  of  heart.     The 
first  of  these  is  the  sense  of  guilt.     A  man  who  lives  in  a 
state  of  vice   and    impenitence  can   have  no  title  to  that 
evenness  and  tranquillity  of  mind  which  is  the  health  of 
the  soul,    and  the  natural  effect  of  virtue  and  innocence. 
Cheerfulness  in  an  ill  man  deserves  a  harder  name  than 
language   can  furnish  us  with,  ar.tl  is  many  degrees  be- 
yond what  .we  commonly  call  fc!Ty  or  madness. 

8.  Atheism,  by  v/hich  I  mean  a  disbelief  of  a  Supreme 
Being,  and  consequently  of  a  future  state,  under  whatso- 
ever til!:  <:rf,  may  likewise  very  reasonably 
deprive  a  man  of  this  cheerfulness  of  temper.     There  is 

;r  so  particularly  gloomy  and  offensive  to  human 
nature  i:i  the  prospect  of  non-existence,  that  I  cannot  but 
v.  ry.ukr,  with  i-mrsy  excellent  writers,  how  it  is  possible  for 
-\  man  to  outlive  the  expectation  of  it.  For  rny  own  part, 
I  think  the*  being  of  a  God  is  so  little  to  be  doubted,  that  it 
is  pjriio3t  the  only  truth  we  are  sure  of,  and  such  a  truth 
as  %ve  meet  with  in  eve; y  object,  in  every  occurrence,  and 

,  ^vy  thought. 

'}.  Jf  we  look  into  the  characters  of  this  tribe  of  infi- 
we  generally  find  they  are  made  up  of  pride,  spleen? 
and  cavil,  it  is  indeed  no  wonder,  that  men,  who  are 
vi n easy  to  themselves,  should  be  so  to  the  rest  of  the 
^vorld  ;  and  how  is  it  possible  for  a  man  to  be  other- 
wise than  uneasy  in  himself,  who  is  in  danger  every 
moment  of  losing  his  entire  existence,  and  dropping  into 
•j*otMr 

IQ/  The  vicious  man  and  Atheist  have  therefore  no  pre- 
tence to  cheerfulness,  and  would  act  very  unreasonably, 
should  they  endeavor  after  it.  It  is  impossible  for  any 
one  to  live  in  good  humor,  and  enjoy  his  present  exist- 
<:rxc,  who  is  apprehensive  either  of  torment  or  ofanhihil- 
Ki  ;  of  being  miserable,  or  of  not  being  at  all. 

'or   having  mentioned  these    two    great   principles, 
wr.irh  are  destructive  of  cheerfulness,  in  their  own  nature, 
F  2 


66        The  •Young'  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

as  well  as  in  right  reason,  I  cannot  think  of  any  other  that 
ought  to  banish  this  happy  temper  from  a  virtuous  raind. 
Pain  and  sickness,  shame  and  reproach,  poverty  and  old 
age,  nay  death  itself,  considering  the  shortness  of  their 
duration,  and  the  advantage  we  may  reap  from  them,  do 
not  deserve  the  name  of  evils. 

11.  A  good  mind  may  bear  up  under  them  with  forti- 
tude, with  indolence,  ai>d  with  cheerfulness  of  heart—- the 
tossing  of  a  tempest  does  not  discompose  him,  which  he 
is  sure  will  bring  him  to  a  joyful  harbor. 

A  man  who  uses  his  best  endeavors  to  live  according- 
to  the  dictates  of  virtue  and  right  reason,  has  two  perpet- 
ual sources  of  cheerfulness,  in  the  consideration  of  his 
own  nature  and  of  that  Being  on  whom  he  has  a  depend- 
ance. 

12.  If  he  looks  into  himself,   he  cannot  but  rejoice  in 
that  existence,  which  is  so  lately  bestowed  upon  him,  and 
which,  after  millions  of  ages,  will  still  be  new,   and  still 
in  its  beginning.    How  many  self-congratulations  natural- 
ly arise  in  the  mind,  when  it  reflects  on  this  its  entrance 
into  eternity,  when  it  takes    a  view  of  those  improvable 
faculties,  which  in  a  few  years,  and  even  at  its  first  set- 
ting out,  have  made  so  considerable  a  progress,  and  which 
will  be  still  receiving  an  increase  of  perfection,    and  con- 
sequently  an  increase  of  happiness  ? 

13.  The  consciousness  of  such  a  being  spreads  a  per- 
petual diffusion  of  joy  through  the  soul  of  a  virtuous  man, 
and  makes  him  look  upon  himself  every  moment  as  more 
happy  than  he  knows  how  to  conceive. 

The  second  source  of  cheerfulness  to  a  good  mind  r-3, 
its  consideration  of  that  Being  on  whom  we  have  ourde- 
pendance,  and  in  whom,  though  we  behold  him  as  yet 
but  in  the  first  faint  discoveries  of  his  perfections,  we  see 
every  thing  that  we  can  imagine  as  great,  glorious,  or 
amiable.  We  find  ourselves  every  where  upheld  by  his 
goodness,  and  surrounded  by  an  immensity  of  love  and 
mercy. 

.14.  In  short,  we  depend  upon  a  Being,  whose  power 
qualifies  him  to  make  us  happy  by  an  infinity  of  means, 
whose  goodness  and  truth  engage  him  to  make  those  hap- 
py who"  desire  it  of  him,  and  whose  unchangeabkness  will 
secure  us  in  this  happiness  to  all  eternity. 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.        .         67 

Such  considerations,  which  every  one  should  perpetu- 
ally cherish  in  his  thoughts,  will  banish  from  us  all  .that 
secret  heaviness  of  heart  which  unthinking  men  are  sub- 
ject to  when  they  lie  under  no  real  affliction,  all  that  an- 
guish which  we  may  feel  from  any  evil  that  actually  op- 
presses us,  to  which  I  may  likewise  add  those  little  crack- 
lings of  mirth  and  folly,  that  are  apter  to  betray  virtue 
than  support  it  ;  and  establish  in  us  such  an  even  and 
cheerful  temper,  as  makes  us  pleasing  to  ourselves,  to 
those  with  whom  we  converse,  and  to  him  whom  we  are 
made  to  please. 


On  the  Advantages  of  a  cheerful  Temper* 

[Spectator,  NO.  387.] 

1. /CHEERFULNESS  is  in  the  first  place  the  best 
V^i  promoter  of  health.  Repining  and  secret  mur- 
murs of  heart  give  imperceptible  strokes  to  those  delicate 
fibres  of  which  the  vital  parts  are  composed,  and  wear 
out  the  machine  insensibly  ;  not  to  mention  those  violent 
ferments  which  they  stir  up  in  the  blood,  and  those  irre- 
gular disturbed  motions,  v/hich  they  raise  in  the  animal 
i  pints. 

2.  I  scarce  remember,  in  my  own  observation,  to  have 
met  with  many  old  men,  or  with  such  who  (to  use  our  En- 
glish  phrase)  were  well,  that  had  not  at  least  a  certain  in- 
dolence in  their  humor,  if  not  a  more  than  ordinary  gaiety 
ind  cheerfulness  of  heart.     The  truth  of  it  is,  health  and 
cheerfulness  mutually  beget  each  other  ;  with  this  difter- 
tnce,  that  we  seldom  meet  with  a  great  degree  of  health 
which  is  not  attended  with   a   certain    cheerfulness,   but 
very  often  see  cheerfulness  where  there  is  no  great  degree 
of  health. 

3.  Cheerfulness  bears  the  same  friendly  regard  to  the 
mind  as  to  the  body  :   It  banishes  all  anxious  care  and  dis- 
content, soothes   and   composes  the    passions,   and  keeps 
the  soul  in  a  perpetual  calm.     But,  having  already  touch- 
ed on  this  last  consideration,  I  shall  here  take  notice,  that 
the  world,  in  which  we  are  placed,  is  filled  with  innumera- 
ble objects  that  are  proper  to  raise   and  keep-  alive  this 
l.appy  ten-; per  of  nmicU 


6&         The  Ycttxg  Gentleman  a?id  Lady's  MONITOR, 

4.  If  we  consider  the  world  in  its  subserviency  to  man, 
one  would  think  it  was  made  for  our  ust  ;  but  if  we  con- 
sider it  in  its  natural  beauty  and  harmony,  one  would  be 
apt  to  conclude  it  was  made  for  our  pleasure.     The  sun, 
which  is  as  the  great  soul  of  the  universe,   and  produces 
all  the  necessaries  of  life,   has  a  particular  influence  in 
cheering  the  mind  of  man,  and  making  the  heart  glad, 

5.  Those  several  living  creatures   which  are  made  for 
our  service  or  sustenance,  at  the  same  time  either  fill  the 
woods  with  their  music,  furnish  us  with  game,  or  raise 
pleasing  ideas  in  us  by  the  delightfulness  of  their  appear- 
ance.    Fountains,  lakes,  and  rivers,  are   as   refreshing  to 
the  imagination,  as  to  the  soil  through  which  they  pass. 

6.  There  are  writers  of  great  distinction,  who  have  made 
it  an  argument  for  Providence,  that  the  whole  earth  is 
covered  with  green,   rather  than  with  any  other  color,  as 
being  such  a  right  mixture  of  light  and  shade,  that  it  corn- 
forts  and   strengthens  the  eye  instead   of  weakening  or 
grieving  it.     For  this  reason  several  painters  have  a  green 
cloth  near  them,  to  ease  the  eye  upon,  after  too  great  an 
application  to  their  coloring. 

7.  A  famous  modem  philosopher  accounts  for  it  in  the 
following  manner;   all   colors  that  are    more    luminous, 
overpower  and  dissipate  the  animal  spirits  which  are  em- 
ployed in  sight  :  on  the  contrary,  those  that  are  more  ob- 
scure do  not  give  the  animal  spirits  a  sufficient  exercise  ; 
whereas  the  rays  that  produce  in  us  the  idea  of  green,  full 
upon  the  eye  in  such  a  due  proportion,  that  they  give  the 
animal  spirits  their  proper  play,  and,  by  keeping  up  the 
struggle  in  a  just  balance,  excite  a  very  pleasing  and  agree- 
able sensation.     Let  the  cause  be  what  it  will,  the  effect 
is  certain  ;  for  which  reason,  the  poets  ascribe  to  this  par- 
ticular color  the  epithet  of  cheerful. 

8.  To  consider  further  this  double  end  in  the  works  of 
nature,  and  how  they  are,  at  the  same  time,  both  useful  and 
entertaining,  we  find  that  the  most  important  parts  in  the 
vegetable    world  are   those   which   are    the  most  beauti- 
ful.    These  are  the  seeds  by  which  the  several  races  of 
•plants    are   propagated    and   continued,    and    which    are 
alw?ys  lodged  in  flowers  or  blossoms.     Nature  seems  to 
hide  her  principal  design,  and  to  be  industrious  in  making 
the  earth  gay  and  delightful,  while   she  is  carrying  on 


and -English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  69 

her  great  work,  and  intent  upon  her  own  preserration. 
The  husbandman,  after  the  same  manner,  is  employed 
in  laying  out  the  whole  country  into  a  kind  of  garden  or 
landskip,  and  making  every  thing  smile  about  him, 
whilst,  in  reality,  he  thinks  of  nothing  but  of  the  harvest 
and  increase  which  is  to  arise  from  it. 

9.  We  may  further  observe  how  Providence  has  taken 
care  to  keep  up  this  cheerfulness  in  the  mind  of  man.  by 
having    formed   it  after   such   a  manner,   as   to  make   it 
capable  of  conceiving  delight  from  several  objects  which 
see  mi  to  have  very  little  use  in  them  ;   as   from  the    wild- 
ness  of  rocks  and  deserts,  and  the  like  grotesque  parts  of 
nature.     Those  who   are  versed   in  philosophy  may  still 
carry    this   consideration  higher   by    observing,   that,    if 
matter  had  appeared  to   us  endowed  only  with  those  real 
qualities  which  it  actually   possesses,  it  would  have  made 
but  a  very  joyless  and  uncomfortable  figure  :   and  why  has 
Providence   given  it   a  power  of  producing  in    us  such 
imaginary  qualities,    as   tastes    and   colors,   sounds   and 
smells,  heat  and  cold,  but  that  man,  \ihile    he  is  conver- 
sant in  the  lower  stations  of  nature,  might  have  his  mind 
cheered  and  delighted  with  agreeable  sensations?  In  short, 
the  whole  universe  is  a  kind  of  theatre  filled  with  objects 
that  either  raise  in  us  pleasure,  amusement,  or  admiration. 

10.  The  reader's  own  thoughts  may  suggest  to  him  the 
vicissitude  of  day  and  night,  the  change  of  seasons,  with 
all  that  variety   of  scenes  which   diversify  the  face  of  na- 
ture, and  fill  the    mind  with  a  perpetual    succession  of 
beautiful  and  pleasing  images. 

I  shall  not  here  mention  the  several  entertainments  of 
art,  with  the  pleasures  of  friendship,  books,  conversation, 
and  other  accidental  diversions  of  life,  because  I  would 
only  take  notice  of  such  incitements  to  a  cheerful  temper, 
as  offer  themselves  to  persons  of  all  ranks  and  conditions, 
and  which  may  sufficiently  show  us,  that  Providence  did 
not  design  this  world  should  be  filled  with  murmurs  and 
repinings,  or  that  the  heart  of  man  should  be  involved  in 
gloom  and  melancholy. 

1 ».  I  the  more  inculcate  this  cheerfulness  of  temper, 
as  it  is  a  virtue  in  which  our  countrymen  are  observed  to 
be  more  deficient  than  any  other  nation.  Melancholy  is 
a  kind  of  demon  that  haunts  our  island,  and  often  con- 


TO         The  Young  Gen t lemon  and  Lady 9s  MONITOR, 

veys  herself  to  us  in  an  easterly  wind.  A  celebrated 
French  novelist,  in  opposition  to  those  who  begin  their 
romances  with  a  flowery  season  of  the  year,  enters  on  his 
story  thus:  In  the  gloomy  month  of  November,  when  the 
peofile  of  England  Jiang  and  drown  themselves,  a  disconsolate 
lover  walked  out  into  the  fields,  Sec. 

12.  Every  one  ought  to  fence  against  the  temper  oF  his 
climate  or  constitution,  and  frequently  to  indulge  in  him- 
self those  considerations  which  may  give  him  a  serenity 
of  mind,  and  enable  him  to  bear  up  cheerfully  against 
those  little  evils  and  misfortunes  which  are  common  to- 
human  nature,  and  which  by  a  right  improvement  of 
them,  will  produce  a  satiety  of  joy  and  an  uninterrupted 
happiness. 

13*  At  the  same  time  that  I  would  engage  my  reader 
to  consider  the  world  in  its  most  agreeable  lights,  I  must 
own  there  are  many  evils  which  naturally  spring  up 
amidst  the  entertainments  that  are  provided  for  us  ;  but 
these,  if  rightly  considered,  should  be  far  from  overcast- 
ing the  mind  with  sorrow,  or  destroying  that  cheerfulness 
of  temper  which  I  have  been  recommending* 

14.  This  interspersion  of  evil  with  good,  and  pain  with 
pleasure,  in  the  works  of  nature,  is  very  truly  ascribed 
by  Mr.  Locke  in  his  Essay  upon  Human  Understanding, 
to  a  moral  reason,  in  the  following  words : 

Beyond  all  this,  we  may  find  another  reason  why  God  hath 
scattered  ufi  and  down  several  degrees  of  pleasure  and 
pain,  in  all  the  things  that  environ  and  effect  us,  and  blended 
them  together  in  almost  all  that  our  thoughts  and  senses  have 
to  do  with  :  that  we  finding  imperfection,  dissatisfaction,  and 
want  of  complete  happiness  in  all  the  enjoyments  which  the 
creatures  can  afford  us,  might  be  led  to  seek  it  in  the  enjoy- 
ment of  him  with  whom  there  is  fulness  of  joy,  and  at 
whose  right  hand  are  pleasures  for  evermore* 


Discretion* 

1.T  HAVE  often  thought  if  the  minds  of  men  were  laid 

JL  open,  we  should   see  but  little  difference  between 

that  of  the  wise  man  and  that  of  the  fool.     There  -are 

infinite  riveries,  numberless  extravagancies,  and  a  per- 


and  English  Teacher's  As  s I  s T  AN T.  71 

petual  train  of  vanities,  which  pass  through  both.  The 
great  difference  is,  the  first  knows  how  to  pick  and  cull 
his  thoughts  for  the  conversation,  by  suppressing  some, 
and  communicating  others  ;  whereas  the  other  lets,  them 
all  indifferently  fly  out  in  words.  This  sort  of  discretion, 
however,  has  no  place  in  private  conversation  between 
intimate  friends.  On  such  occasions  the  wisest  men  very 
often  talk  like  the  weakest  ;  for  indeed  the  talking  with  a 
friend  is  nothing  else  but  thinking  aloud. 

2.  Tully  has  therefore  very  justly  exposed  a  precept 
delivered  by  some  ancient  writers,  that  a  man  should  live 
with  his  enemy  in  such  a  manner,  as  might  leave  him 
room  to  become  his  friend  ;  and  with  his  friend  in  such 
a  manner,  that  if  he  became  his  enemy,  it  should  not 
be  in  his  power  to  hurt  him.  The  first  part  of  this  rule, 
which  regards  our  behavior  towards  an  enemy,  is  indeed 
very  reasonable,  as  well  as  prudential  ;  but  the  latter  part 
of  it  which  regards  our  behavior  towards  a  friend,  savors 
more  of  cunning  than  of  discretion,  and  would  cut  a  man 
off- from  the  greatest  pleasures  of  life,  which  are  the  free- 
doms of  conversation  with  a  bosom  friend.  Besides, 
that  when  a  friend  is  turned  into  an  enemy,  and  (as  the 
son  of  Sirach  calls  him)  a  betrayer  of  secrets,  the  world 
is  just  enough  to  accuse  the  perfidiousness  of  the  friend^ 
rather  than  the  indiscretion  of  the  person  who  confided 
in  him. 

3»  Discretion  does  not  only  show  itself  in  words  but  in 
all  the  circumstances  of  action  ;  and  is  like  an  under- 
agent  of  Providence,  to  guide  and  direct  us  in  the  ordinary 
concerns  of  life. 

There  are  many  more  shining  qualities  in  the  mind  of 
man,  but  there  is  none  so  useful  as  discretion  ;  it  is  this 
indeed  which  gives  a  value  to  all  the  rest,  which  sets  them 
at  work  in  their  proper  times  and  places,  and  turns  them 
to  the  advantage  of  the  peason  who  is  possessed  of  them. 
Without  it,  learning  is  pedantry,  and  wit  impertinence  ; 
virtue  itself  looks  Iik«  weakness  ;  the  best  parts  only 
qualify  a  man  to  be  more  sprightly  in  errors,  and  active 
to  his  own  prejudice. 

4.  Nor  does  discretion  only  make  a  man  the  master  of 
his  own  parts,  but  of  other  men's.  The  discreet  mart 
finds  out  the  talents  of  those  he  converses  with,  and  knows 


72         The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

how  to  apply  them  to  proper  uses.  Accordingly,  if  we 
look  into  particular  communities  and  divisions  of  men3 
\ve  may  observe,  that  it  is  the  discreet  man,  not  the  witty, 
nor  the  learned,  nor  the  brave,  who  guides  the  conver- 
sation, and  gives  measures  to  the  society.  A  man  with 
great  talents,  but  void  of  discretion,  is  like  Polyphemus  in 
the  fable,  strong  and  blind,  endued  with  an  irresistible  force, 
which  for  want  of  sight,  is  of  no  use  to  him. 

5.  Though  a  man  has  all  other  perfections,  and  wants 
discretion,  he  will  be  of  no  great  consequence  in  the  world ; 
but  if  he  has  this  single  talent  in  perfection,  and  but  a 
common  share  of  others,  he  may  do  what  he  pleases  in 
his  station  of  life. 

At  the  same  time  that  I  think  discretion  the  most  useful 
talent  a  man  can  be  master  of,  I  look  upon  cunning  to  be 
the  accomplishment  of  little,  mean,  ungenerous  minds. 
Discretion  points  out  the  noblest  ends  to  us,  and  pursues 
the  most  proper  and  laudable  methods  of  attaining  them  : 
cunning  has  only  private  selfish  aims,  and  sticks  at  no- 
thing which  may  make  them  succeed. 

6.  Discretion  has  large  and  extended  views,  and  like 
a  well-formed  eye  commands  a  whole  horizon  :  cunning 
is  a  kind  of  short-sightedness,  that  discovers  the  minutest 
objects  which  are  near  at  hand,  but  is  not  able  to  discern 
things  at  a  distance.     Discretion,  the  more  it  is  discov- 
ered, gives  a  greater  authority  to  the  person  who  pos- 
sesses it  :  cunning,  when  it  is    once  detected,  loses  its 
force,  and  makes  a  man  incapable  of  bringing  about  even 
those  events  which  he  might   have  done,  had  he  passed, 
only  for  a  plain  man.     Discretion  is  the  perfection  of  rea- 
son, and  a  guide  to  us  in  all  the  duties  of  life  :  cunning  is 
a  kind  of  instinct,  that  only  looks  out  after  our  immediate 
interest  and  welfare* 

7.  Discretion  is  only  found  in  men  of  strong  sense  and 
good  understanding  :  cunning  is  often  to  be  met  with  in 
brutes  themselves,  and  in  persons  who  are  but  the  fewest 
removes  from  them.    In  short,  cunning  is  only  the  mimic 
of  discretion,  and  may  pass  upon  weak  men,  in  the  same 
manner  as  vivacity  is  often  mistaken  for  wit,  and  gravity 
for  wisdom. 

The  cast  of  mind  which  is  natural  to  a  discreet  man, 
makes  him  look  forward  into  futurity,  and  consider  what 


and  English'  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  73 

will  be  his  condition  millions  of  ages  hence,  as  well  aii 
what.it  15  at  present. 

8.  He' knows,  that  the  misery  or  happiness  which  are 
reserved  for  him  in  another  world,  lose  nothing  of  their 
reality  by  being  placed  at  so  great  a  distance   from  him. 
The  objects  do  not  appear  little  to  him  because  they  are 
remote.     He   considers  that    those  pleasures  and  pains 
which  lie  hid  in  eternity,  approach  nearer  to  him  every 
moment,  and  will  be  present  with  him  in  their  full  weight 
and  measure,  as  much  as  those  pains  and  pleasures  which 
lie  feeJs  at  this  very  instant.     For  this  reason  he  is  careful 
to  secure  to  himself  that  which  is  the  proper  happiness  of 
his  nature,  and  the  ultimate  design  of  his  being. 

9.  He  carries  his   thoughts  to  the  end  of  every  action, 
and  considers  the  most  distant  as  well  as  the  mostimme* 
diate  effects  of  it.     He  supersedes,  every  little  prospect  of 
gain   and  advantage  which  offers  itself  here,   if  he  does 
Xiot  find  it  consistent  with  his  views  of  an  hereafter.     In 
a  \vord,  his  hopes  are  full  of  immortality,   his  schemes 
sre  large  and  glorious,    and   his  'conduct   suitable  to  one 
who  knows  his   true  interest,   and  how  to  pursue  it  by 
•proper  methods. 

10.  I  have -in  this  essay  upon    discretion,  considered 
it  both  as  an  accomplishment  and  as   a  virtue,  and  have 
therefore  described  it  in  its  full  extent :  not  only  as  it  is 
conversant  about  worldly   affairs,   but  as  it  regards  our 
whole    existence  ;  not   only    as    it   is  the    guide   of,  a 
raortal  creature,  but  as  it  is  in  general  the  director  of  a 
reasonable  being.     It  is  in  this  light  that  discretion  is  rep- 
resented by  the  wise  man,  who  sometimes  mentions  it 
tinder  the  name  of  discretion,  and  sometimes  under  that  of 
wisdom. 

11.  It  is  indeed   (as  described  in  the  latter  part  of  this 
paper)  the  greatest  wisdom,  but  at  the  same  time  in  the 
power  of  every  one  to  attain.     Its  advantages  are  infinite, 
but  its  acquisition  ea?>y  ;  or,  to  speak  of  her  in  the  words 
of  the  apocryphal  writer,  "  Wisdom  is  glorious  and  never 
"  fadeth  away,  yet  she  is  easily  seen  of  them  that  love 
"  "  ier,  and  found  of  such  as  seek  her. 

12.  "  She  proven teth  them  that  desire   her,  in  making 
"  herself  first  known  unto  them.  He  that  seeketii  her  early 
s(  shall  have  no  great  travel :  for  he  shall  find  her  sitting 


Qtntteman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

i-?.  his  doors.  To  think  therefore  upon  her  is  perfec- 
tion of  wisdom,  and  whoso  watcheth  for  her,  shall 
:  quickly  be  without  care.  For  she  goeth  about  seeking 
;  such  as  are  worthy  of  her,  shevveth  herself  favorably 
:  unto  them  in  the  ways,  and  meeteth  them  in  everv 
;  thought." 


Pride 

IJ  |  ^HERE  is  no  passion  which  steals  into  the  heart 
JL  more  imperceptibly,  and  covers  itself  under  more 
disguises,  than  pride.  For  my  own  part,  I  think  if  there 
is  any  passion  or  vice  which  I  am  wholly  a  stranger  to,  it 
33  this  ;  though  at  the  same  time,  perhaps,  this  very  judg- 
ment which  I  form  of  myself,  proceeds  in  some  measure 
from  this  corrupt  principle. 

2.  I  have  been  always  wonderfully  delighted  with  that 
sentence  in  holy  writ,  Pride  was  not  made  for  max.  There 
is  not  indeed  any  single  view  of  human  nature  under  its 
present  condition,  which  is  not  sufficient  to  extinguish  in 
us  all  the  secret  seeds  of  pride  ;  and,  on  the  contrary,  to 
sink  the  soul  into  the  lowest  state  of  humility,  and  what 
the  schoolmen  call  self-annihilation.  Pride  was  not  made 
for  man,  as  he  is, 

1.  A  sinful, 

2.  An  ignorant, 

o.  A  miserable  being. 

There  is  nothing  in  his  understanding,  hi  his  will,  or 
in  his  present  condition,  that  can  tempt  any  considerate 
creature  to  pride  or  vanity. 

3.  These  three  very  reasons  why  he  should  not  be  proud, 
are  notwithstanding  the  reasons  why  he  is  so.     Were  not 
he  a  sinful  creature,  he  would  not  be  subject  to  a  passion 
which  rises  from  the  depravity  of  his  nature  :  were  he 
not  an  ignorant  creature,    he  would  see  that  he  has  no- 
thing to  be  proud  of  ;  and  were    not  the  whole  species 
miserable,  he  would  not  have  those  wretched  objects  be- 
fore his  eyes,  which  are  the  occasions  of  this  passion,  i:\id 
which  make  one  man  value  himself  more  than  another. 

4.  A  wise  man  will  be  contented  that  his  glory  be  de- 
furred  till  such  time  as  he  shall  be  truly  glorified  j  when 


and  English  Teacher* 3  ASSISTANT. 

his  understanding  shall  be  cleared,  his  will  rectified,  <md 
his  happiness  assured  ;  or  in  other  words,  when  he 
be  neither  sinful,  nor  ignorant,  nor  miserable. 

5.  If  there  be  any  thing  which  makes  human  nature 
appear  ridiculous  to  beings  of  superior  faculties,  it  must  be 
pride*  They  know  so  well  the  vanity  cf  these  imagina- 
ry perfections  that  swell  the  heart  of  man,  and  of  those 
little  supernumerary  advantages,  whether  in  birth,  for- 
tune, or  title,  which  one  man  enjoys  above  another,  that 
it  must  certainly  very  much  astonish,  if  it  does  not  very 
much  divert  them,  when  they  see  a  mortal  puffed  up,  and 
valuing  himself  above  his  neighbors  on  any  of  these  ac- 
counts, at  the  same  time  that  he  is  obnoxious  to  all  the 
common  calamities  of  the  species7. 

6.-  To  set  this  thought  in  its  true  light,  we  will  fancy, 
if  you  please,  that  yonder  mole-hill  is  inhabited  by  reason- 
able creatures,  and  that  every  pismire  (his  shape  and  way 
of  life  only  excepted)  is  endowed  with  human  passions, 
how  should  we  smile  to  hear  one  give  Us  an  account  of  the 
pedigrees,  distinctions,  and  titles  that  reign  among  them  ! 

7.  Observe  how  the  whole  swarm  divide  and  make  way 
for  the  pismire  that  passes  through  them  !  You  must  un- 
derstand he  is  an  emmet   of  quality,   and  has  better  blood 
in  his  veins  than  any  pismire  irr  the  mole-hill, — Don't  you 
see  how  sensible  he  is  of  it,  how  slow  he  marches  forward, 
how  the  whole  rabble  of  ants  keep  their  distance  ? 

8.  Here  you  may  observe  one  placed  upon  a  little  emi- 
nence,  and    looking    down  on   a  long  row  of  laborers. 
He  is  the  richest  insect  on  this  side  the  hillock,  he  has  a 
walk  of  half  a  yard  in  length,  and  a  quarter  of  an  inch  in 
breadth,  he  keeps  an  hundred  menial  servants,  and  has  at 
least  fifteen  barley-corns  in  his  granary.     He  is  now  chid- 
ing, and  beslaving  the  emmet  that  stands  before  him,  and 
who,  for  all  that  we  can  discover,  is  as  good  an  emmet 
as  himself. 

9.  But  here  comes  an  insect  of  figure  !  don't  you  take 
notice  of  a  little  white  straw  that  he  carries  in  his  mouth  ? 
That  straw,  you  must  understand,  he  \vou!d  not  part  with 
for  the  longest  tract  about  the  mole-hill :  did    you  but 
know  what  he   has  undergone  to  purchase  it !  See  how 
the  ants  of  all  qualities  and  conditions  swarm  about  him  ! 
Should  this  straw  drop  out  of  his  mouth,  foil  would  see 


76         The  Young-  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

all  this  numerous  circle  of  attendants  follow  the  nex, 
that  took  it  up,  and  leave  the  discarded  insect,  or  run  over 
his  back  to  come  at  his  successor. 

10.  If  r.ow  you  have  a  mind  to  see  all  the  ladies  of  the 
mole-hill,  observe  first  the  pismire  that  listens  to  the  em- 
met on  her  left  hand,  at  the  same  time  that  she  seems  to 
turn  away  her  head  from  him.  He  tells  this  poor  insect 
that  she  is  a  goddess,  that  her  eyes  are  brighter  than  the 
sun,  that  life  and  death  are  at  her  disposal.  She  believes 
him,  and  gives  herself  a  thousand  little  airs  upon  it. 

11.*  Mark  the  vanity  of  the  pismire  on  your  left  hand. 
She  can  scarce  crawl  with  age  ;  but  you  must  know  she 
values  herself  upon  her  birth  ;  and  if  you  mind,  spurns  at 
every  one  that  comes  within  her  reach.  The  little  nim- 
ble coquette  that  is  running  along  by  the  side  of  her,  is  a 
wit.  She  has  broke  many  a  pismire's  heart.  Do  but  ob- 
serve what  B,  drove  of  lovers  are  running  after  her. 

12.  We  will  here  finish  this  imaginary  scene  ;  but  first 
of  all  to   draw  the   parallel   closer,  will  suppose,  if  you 
please,  that  death  comes  down  upon  the  mole-hill,  in  the 
shape  of  a  cock  sparrow^  who  picks  up  without  distinction, 
the  pismire  of  quality  and  his  flatterers,  the  pismire  of 
substance  and  his  day  laborers,  the  white  straw  officer  and 
his  sycophants,  with  all  the  goddesses,  wits,  and  beauties 
of  the  mole-hill. 

1 3.  May  we  not  imagine  that  beings  of  superior  natures 
and  perfections  regard  all  the  instances  of  pride  and  vanity, 
among  our  own  species,  in  the  same  kind  of  view,  when 
they  take  a  survey  of  those  who  inhabit  the  earth  ;  or,  in 
the  language  of  an  ingenious  French  poet,  of  those  pi&- 
inires  that  people  this  heap  of  dirt,  wkiich  human  vanity 
has  divided  into  climates  and  regions. 

GUARDIAN,  Vol.  II.  NO.  153* 


Drunkenness. 

O  vices  are  so  incurable  as  those  which  men  arc 
apt  to  glory  in.  One  would  wonder  how  drunk- 
enness should  have  the  good  luck  to  be  of  this  number. 
Anar  char  sis,  being  invited  to  a  match  of  drinking  at  Co- 
rinth, dematided  the  prize  very  humorously,  because 


an  d  Jbigli&h  Teacher 's  A s  s  I  s T A  N r . 

he  was  drunk  before  any  of  the  rest  of  the  company  ;  for 
says  he,  when  we  run  a  race,  he  who  arrives  at  the  goal 
first,  is  entitled  to  the  reward  : 

2.  On  the  contrary,  in  this  thirsty  generation,  the  hon- 
or falls  upon   him  who  carries  off  the   greatest  quantity 
of  liquor,  and  knocks  down  the  rest  of  the  company.     I 
was  the  other  day  with   honest  Wilt  Funnell,  the  West- 
Saxon, .who  .was  reckoning^  up  how  much  liquor  had  past 
through  him  in  tbe  last  twenty   years  of  his  life,  which, 
according  to  his  computation,  amounted  to  twenty-three 
hoghsheatls  of  October,  four  ton  of  port,  half  a  kiklerkin 
of  small  beer,  nineteen  barrels  of  cyder,  and  three  glasses 
of  champaigne  ;  besides   which  he   had  assisted  at  four 
hundred  bowls  of  punch)  not  to  mention  sips,  drams,  .and 
whets  without  number. 

3.  I  question  not  but  every  reader's  memory  -will  sug- 
gest to  him  several  ambitious  young  men,  who  are  as  vain 
in  this  particular  as  ll-Tu  Funncil,  and  can  boast  of  as  glo- 
rious exploits.. 

Our  modern  philosophers  observe,  that  there  is  a  gen* 
eral  decay  of  moisture  in  the  globe  of  the  earth.  This 
they  chiefly  ascribe  to  the  growth  of  vegetables,  which  in- 
corporate into  their  own  substance  many  fluid  bodies  that 
never  return  again  to  their  former  nature. 

4.  But  with  submission,  they  ought  to  throw  into  their 
account,  those  innumerable   rational  beings  which  fetch 
their  nourishment  chief!}7  out  of  liquids  ;  especially  whui 
\ve  consider   that  men,  compared  with  theirfellow  crea- 
tures, drink  much  more  than  comes  to  their  share. 

5.  But   however  highly  this  tribe  of  people  may  think 
of  themselves,  a  drunken  man  is  a  greater  monster  thau 
any  that  is  to  be  found  among  all  the  creatures  which  God 
has  made  ;  as  indeed  there  is  no  character  which  appears 
more  despicable  and  de formed,  i.i  the  eyes  of  ail  reasona- 
ble persons,  than  that  of  ?.  drunkard.  ^  - 

6.  BcnositS)  one  of  our  own  countrymen,  who  was  ad- 
dicted to  this  vice,  having  set  up  for  a  share  in  the  Kom:;n 
empire,  and  being-  defeated  in  a  great -battle,  hanged  hi  in- 
self.     When  he  was  seen  by  the  army  in  this  melancholy 
Niiuation,   notwithstanding   he    had  behaved  himself  very 
bravely,  the  common  jest   was,  that  the  thiny;  they  saw 
hanging  upon  the  tree  before  their),  was  not  a  nun.  hut  -\ 
bottle,  G  2 


78        Tfis  Young  GeciL.  Lady's  MONITOR, 

7.  This  vice  has  very  fatal  effects  on  the  mind,  the  bo- 
dy,  and  fortune  of  the  person  who  is  devoted  to  it.    » 

In  regard  to  the  mind,  it  first  of  all  discovers  every  flaw 
in  it.  The  sober  man,  by  the  strength  of  reason,  may 
keep  under  and  subdue  every  vice  or  folly  to  which  he  is 
most  inclined  ;  but  wine  makes  every  latent  seed  sprout 
tip  in  the  soul,  and  show  itself  :  it  gives  fury  to  the  pas- 
sions, and  force  to  those  objects  which  are  apt  to  produce 
them. 

8.  When  a  young  fellow  complained  to  an  old  philoso- 
pher that  his  wife  was  not  handsome.     Put  less  water  in 
your  wine,  says  the  philosopher,  and  you'll  quickly  make 
her  so.     Wine  heightens  indifference  into  love,  love  into 
jealousy,  and  jealousy  into  madness.     It  often  turns  the 
good-natured  man  into  an  idiot,   and  the  choleric  into  an 
assassin.     It  gives  bitterness  to  resentment,  it  makes  van- 
ity insupportable,  and  displays  every  little  spot  of  the  soul 
in  its  utmost  deformity. 

9.  Nor  does  this  vice  only  betray  the  hidden  faults  of 
a  man,  and  show  them  in  the  most  odious  colors,  but  of- 
ten occasions  faults  to  which  he  is  not  naturally  subject. 
There  is  more  of  turn  than  of  truth  in  a  saying  of  Senacay 
that  drunkenness  does   not  produce,  but  discover  faults. 
Common  experience  teaches  the  contrary. 

10.  Wine  throws  a  man   out  of  himself,   and  infuses 
qualities  into  the  mind,  which  she  is  a  stranger  to  in  her 
sober  moments.     The  person  you  converse  with,  after  the 
third  bottleps  not  the  same  man  who  at  first  sat  down  at 
the  table  with  you.     Upon  this  maxim  is  founded  one  of 
the  prettiest   sayings  I  ever  met  with,  which  is  inscribed 
to  Publim  Syrus,  He  who  jests  upon  a  man  that  is  drunk, 
injures  the  absent. 

1 1.  Thus  does  drunkenness  act  in  direct  contradiction 
to  reason,  whose  business  it  is  to  clear  the  mind  of  every 
vice  which  is  crept  into  it,  and  to  guard  it  against  all  the 
approaches  of  any  that    endeavor  to  make  its  entrance. 
But  besides  these  ill  effects  which   this  vice  produces   in 
the  person  who    is  actually  under  its  dominion,   it   has 
also  a  bad  influence  on  the  mind,  even  in  its  sober  mo- 
ments, as  it    insensibly  weakens  the  understanding,  im- 
pairs the  memory,  and  makes  those  faults  habitual  which 
are  produced  by  frequent  excesses  :  it  wastes  the  estate. 


&nd  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  T9 

banishes  reputation,  consumes  the  body,  and  renders  a 
man  of  the  brightest  parts  the  common  jest  of  an  insig- 
nificant clown. 

12.  A  method  of  spending  one's  time  agreeably  is  a 
.thing  so  little  studied,  that  the  common  amusement  of  our 
young  gentlemen  (especially  of  such  as  are  at  a  distance 
from  those  of  the  first  breeding)  is  drinking.  This  way 
of  entertainment  has  custom  on  its  side  ;  but  as  much  as 
it  has  prevailed,  I  believe  there  have  been  very  few  com- 
panies that  have  been  guilty  of  excess  this  way,  where 
there  have  not  happened  more  accidents  which  make 
against,  than  for  the  continuance  of  it. 
'  1 3.  It  is  very  common  that  events  arise  from  a  debauch 
•which  are  fatal,  and  always  such  as  are  disagreeable. 
With  all  a  man's  reason  and  good  sense  about  him,  his 
tongue  is  apt  to  utter  things  out  of  a  mere  gaiety  of  heart, 
which  may  displease  his  best  friends.  Who  then  would 
trust  himself  to  the  power  of  wine,  without  saying  more 
against  it,  than  that  it  raises  the  imagination  and  depresses 
the  judgment  ? 

14.  Were  there  only  this  single  consideration,  that  we 
are  less  masters  of  ourselves  when  we  drink  in  the  least 
proportion   above    the  exigencies  of  thirst  ;  I  say,  were 
this  all  that  could  be  objected,  it  were  sufficient  to  make  us 
abhor  this  vice.     But  we  may  go  on  to  say,  that  as  he 
who  drinks  but  a  little  is  not  master  of  himself,  so  he  who 
drinks  much  is  a  slave  to  himself. 

15.  As  for  my  part,  I  ever  esteemed  a  drunkard  of  all 
vicious  persons  the  most  vicious  :   for  if  our  actions  are  to 
be.weighed  and  considered  according  to  the  intention  of 
them,  what  can  we  think  of  him  who  puts  himself  into  a 
circumstance  wherein  he  can  have  no  intention  at  all,  but 
incapacitates  himself  for  the  duties  and  offices  of  life,  by 
a  suspension  of  all  his  faculties. 

16.  If  a  man  considers  that  he  cannot,  under  the  op- 
pression of  drink,  be  a  friend,  a  gentkman,  a  roaster,  or 
a  subject ;  that  he  has  so  long  banished  himself  from  ail 
that  is  dear,  and  given  up. all  that  is  sacred  to  him,  he 
would    even    then   think  of  a  debauch  with  horror  ;  but 
when  he  Iboks  still  further,  ;ancl  acknowledges  that  he  is 
not  only  expelled  out  of  all  the  relations  of  life,  but  also 
liable  to  offend  against  them  all,  what  words  can  express 


80         The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR^ 

the  terror  and  detestation  he  would  have  of  such  a  con- 
dition ?  And  yet  he  owns  all  this  of  himself  who  says  he 
was  drunk  last  night. 

17.  As    I  have  all  along  persisted  in   it,    that  all  the 
vicious  in  general  are  in  a  state  of  death,  so  I  think  I  may 
add  to  the  non-existence  of  drunkards,  that  they  died  by 
their  own  hands.     He  is  certainly  as  guilty  of  suicide  who 
perishes  by  a  slow,  as  he  that  is  dispatched  fcy  an  immedi- 
ate poison. 

18.  In  my  last  lucubration  I  proposed  the  general  use 
of  water-gruel,  and  hinted  that  it  might  not  be  amiss  at 
this  very  season  :  but  as  there  are  some,  whose  cases,  in 
regard  to  their  families,  will  not  admit  of  delay,  I  have 
used  my   interest  in   several  wards  of  the  city,  that  the 
wholsome    restorative  above    mentioned  may  be  given  in 
tavern  kitchens  to  all  the  mornings  draughtmen  within  the 
walls  when  they  call  for  wine  before  neon. 

19.  For  a  further  restraint  and  mark  upon  such  per- 
sons, I  have  given  orders,  that  in   all  the   offices  where 
policies  are  drawn  upon  lives,  it  shall  be  added  to  the  ar- 
ticles  which  prohibits  tlv.it  the  nominee  should  cross  ths 
sea,  the  words,  Provided  also^  that  the  above  mentioned,  A* 
B.  shall  not  drink  before  dinner  during  the  term  mentioned 
in  this  indenture* 

20.  I  am  not  without  hop^s  that  by  this  method  I  shell 
bring  some  unsizeable  friends  of  mine  into   shap:- 
breadth,  as  well  as  others  who  are  languid  aiy-1  consump- 
tive into  health  and  vigor.     Most  of  the  self-murderers 
whom  I  yet  hinted  at,  are  such  as  preserve  a  certain  re- 
gularity in  taking  their  poison,  and  make  it  mix  pretty 
well  with  their  food  ? 

21.  But  the  most  conspicuous  of  those  who  destroy 
themselves,  are  such  as  in  their  youth  fail  into  this  sort  of 
debauchery,  and   contract  a  certain  uneasiness  of  spirit, 
which  is  not  to  be  diverted  but  by  tippling  as  often  as  they 
can  foil  into  company  in  the  day,  and  conclude  with  down- 
right drunkenness  at  night.  These  gentlemen  never  keep 
the  satisfaction  of  youth,  but  skip  the  years  of  manhood, 
and  are  decrepit  soon  after  they  are  of  age. 

22.  I  was  godfather  to  one  of  these  old  fellows*     He  is 
now  three  and  thirty,   which  is  the  grand  climacteric  of 
a  young  drunkard.     I  went  to  visit  the,  crazy  wretch-  tliks 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  81 

morning  with  no  other  purpose  but  to  rally- him,  under  the 
pain  and  uneasiness  of  being  sober. 

But  as  our  faults  are  double  when  they  affect  others 
besides  ourselves,  so  this-  vice  is  still  mare  odious  in  a 
married  than  a  sine^e  man. 

23.  He  that  is  a  husband  of  a  woman  of  honor,  and 
comes  home  overloaded  with  wine,  is  still  more  contempt- 
ible, in  proportion  to  the  regard  we  have  to  the  unhappy 
consort  of  his  beastiality.    The  imagination  cannot  shape 
to  itself  any  thing  more  monstrous   and  unnatural,  than 
the  familiarities  between  drunkenness  and  chastity.     The 
wretched  Astrca,  who  is  the  perfection  of  beauty  and  inno- 
cence, has  long  been  thus  condemned  for  life.     The  ro- 
mantic tales  of  virgins  devoted  to  the  jaws  of  monsters, 
have  nothing  in  them  so  terrible,  as  the  gift  of  Astrea  to 
that  bacchanal. 

24.  The  reflection  of  such  a  match  as  spotless  inno- 
cence with  abandoned  lewdness,    is  what  puts    this  vice 
in  the  worst  figure  it  can  bear  with  regard  to  others  ;  but 
when  it  is  looked  upon  with  respect  only  to  the  drunkard 
himself,  it  has   deformities  enough  to  make  it  disagree- 
able, which  may  be  summed  up  in  a  word,   by  allowing, 
that  he  who  resigns  his  reason,  is  actually  guilty  of  ail 
that  he  is  liable  to  fiorn  the /want  of  reason. 

TATLER,  Vol.  IV.  NO.  241. 


Gaming. 
SIR, 

1* '  AS  soon  as  you  have  set  up  your  unicorn,  there 
JL\.  *  is  no  question-  but  the  ladies  will  make  him 
<  push  very  furiously  at,  the  men  ;  for  which  reason-,  I 
c  think  it  is  good  to  be  beforehand  with  them,  and  make 
'the  lion  roar  aloud  at  female  irregularities.  Among 
'  these  I  wonder  how  their  gaming  has  so  long  escaped 

*  your  notice. 

2.  4  You  who  converse  with   the  sober  family  of  the 

*  Lizards^  are,  perhaps,  a  stranger  to  these  viragos  ;  but 

*  what  would  you  say,  should  you  see  the  Sparkler  shaking 
4  her  elbow  for  a  whole    night  together,    and  trumping 

*  the  table  with  a  dice-box  ?  Or-  how  would  you  like  to 


32         Tlie  Young  Gentleman  and  'Lady's  MONITOR', 

4  hear  the  good  widow  lady  herself  returning  to  her  House 
*  at  midnight,  and  alarming1  the  whole  street  with  a 
;  most  enormous  rap,  after  having  set  up  till  that  time 
4  at  crimp  or  ombre  ?  Sir,  I  am  the  husband  of  one  of 
4  these  female  gamesters,  and  a  great  loser  by  it  both  in- 
4  my  rest  and  my  pocket.  As  my  wife  reads  your  papers, 
'  one  upon  this  subject  might  be  of  use  both  to  her,  aivd 

'  Your  humble  servant** 

3.  I  should  ill  deserve  the  name  of  Guardian,  did  I  not 
caution  all  my  fair  wards  against  a  practice,  which,  when 
it  runs  to  excess,  is  the  most  shameful,  but  one,  that  the 
female   world  can  fall  into.     The  ill  consequences  of  it 
are  more  than   can  be   contained  in  this  paper.     How- 
ever, that  I  may  proceed  in  method,  I  shall  consider  them, 
First,  as  they  relate  to  the  mind  :  Secondly,  as  they  relate 
to  the  body. 

4.  Could  we  look  into  the  mind  of  a  female  gamester? 
we  should  see  it  full  of  nothing  but  trumps   and  matta- 
dors.     Her  slumbers    are    haunted  with   kings,    queens, 
and  knaves.     The  clay  lies  heavy  upon  her  'till  the  play- 
season  returns,  when  for  half  a  dozen  hours  together,  all 
her  faculties  are  employed  in  shuffling,  cutting,  dealing 
and  sorting  out  a  pack  of  cards  ;   and  no  ideas  to  be   dis- 
covered in  a  soul  which  xalls  itself  rational,  excepting  lit- 
tle square  figures  of  painted  and  spotted  paper. 

5.  Was  the  understanding,    that   divine  part  in   our 
composition,  given  for  such  an  use  ?  Is  it  thus  that  we 
improve  the  greatest  talsnt  human  nature  is  endued  with  ? 
What  would  a  superior  being  think,  were  he  shown  this 
intellectual  faculty  in  a  female  gamester,  and  at  the  same 
time  told,  that  it  was  by  this  she  was-  distinguished  from 
brutes,  and  allied  to  angels  ? 

6.  When  our  women  thus  fill  their  imaginations  with 
pips  and  counters,  I  cannot  wonder  at  the  story  I  have 
lately  heard  of  a  new-born  child  that  was  marked  with  the 
five  of  clubs  I 

Their  passions  suffer  no  less  by  this  practice  than  their 
understandings  and  imaginations.     What  hope  and  frnr, 
}oy  and  anger,  sorrow  and  discontent,   break  out  all   at 
once  in  a  fair  assembly  upon  so  noble  an  occasion  zt 
of  turning  up  a  card  ? 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT,  83 

7.  Who  can  consider,  without  a  secret  indignation,  that 
•all  those  affections  of  the  mind  which  should  be  conse- 
crated to  their  children,  husbands,  and  parents,  are  thus 
vilely  prostituted  and  thrown  away  upon  a  hand  at  loo  ? 
For  my  own  part,   I  cannot  but  be  grieved,  when  I  see  a 
fine  woman  fretting  and  bleeding  inwardly  from  such  triv- 
ial motives  :  when  I  behold  the  face  of  an  angel,  agitated 
and  discomposed  by  the  heart  of  a  fury. 

8.  Our  minds  are  of  such  a  make,  that  they  naturally 
give  themselves  up  to  every   diversion  which   they  are 
much  accustomed  to,  and  we  always  find  that  play,  when 
followed  with  assiduity,  engrosses  the  whole  woman.    She 
quickly   grows   uneasy  in  her  own  family,  takes  but  little 
pleasure  in  all  the  domestic  innocent  endearments  of  life, 
and  grows  more  fond  of  Pam  than  of  her  husband. 

6.  My  friend  Theofihrastus,  the  best  of  husbands  and 
of  fathers,  has  often  complained  to  me,  with  tears  in  his 
.eyes,  of  the  late  hours,  he  is  forced  to  keep  if  he  would 
enjoy  his  wife's  conversation.  When  she  returns  to  me 
with  joy  in  her  face,  it  does  not  arise,  says  he,  from  the 
bight  of  her  husband,  but  from  the  good  luck  she  has  had 
at  cards. 

10.  OB  the  contrary,  says  he,  if  she  has  been  a  loser, 
I  am  doubly  a  sufferer  by  it.     She  comes  home  out  of 
humor,   is  angry  with  every  body,  displeased  with  all  I 
can  do  o<r  say,  and  in  reality  for  no  other  reason  but  be- 
cause she    has    been  throwing  away  my  estate.     What 
charming   bed-fellows  and  companions  for  life  are  men 
likely  to  meet  with,  that  choose  their  wives  out  of  such 
women  of  vogue  and  fashion  ?  What  a  race  of  worthies, 
what  patriots,  what  heroes  must  we  expect  from  mothers 
of  this  make  ? 

11.  I  come  in  the  next  place  to  consider  the  ill  conse- 
quences which  gaming  has  on  the  bodies  of  cur  female 
adventurers.     It  is  so  ordered,   that    almost  every  thing 
which  corrupts  the  soul  decays  the  body.     The  beauties 
of  the  face  and  mind  are  generally  destroyed  by  the  same 
means.      This    consideration    should  have    a  particular 
weight  with  the  female  world,  who  are  designed  to  please 
the  eye  and  attract  the-  regards  of  the  other  half  of  the 
specie  s, 

12.  Now  there  is  nothing  that  wears  out   a  fine  face 


84        The    Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

like  the  vigils  of  the  card  table,  and  those  cutting  passions 
\vhich  naturally  attend  them.  Hollow  eyes,  haggard 
looks,  and  pale  complexions,  are  the  natural  indications 
of  a  female  gamester.  Her  morning  sleeps  are  not  able 
to  repair  her  midnight  watchings. 

13.  I  have  known  a  woman  carried  off  half  dead  from 
bassette,   and  have  maity  a  time  grieved  to  see  a  person 
of  quality  gliding  by  me  in  her  chair  at  two  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  and  looking  like  a  spectre  amidst  a  glare  of  Hani- 
beaux  :  in  short,  I  never  knew  a  thorough-paced  female 
gamester  hold  her  beauty  two  winters  together. 

14.  But  there  is  still  another  case  in  which  the  body  is 
more  endangered  than  in  the  former.    All  play-debts  must 
be  paid   in  specie,  or  by  an  equivalent.     The  man  that 
plays  beyond  his  income  pawns  his  estate  ;  the  woman 
must  find  out  something  else  to  mortgage  when  her  pin- 
money  is  gone.  The  husband  has  his  lands  to  dispose  *f,  the 
wife  her  person.     Now  when  the  female  body  is  once  dip- 
ped, if  the  creditor  be  very  importunate,  I  leave  my  reader 
to  consider  the  consequences. 

15.  It  is  needless  here  to  mention  the  ill  consequences 
attending  this  passion  among  the  men,  who  are  often  bub* 
bled  out  of  their  money  and  estates  by  sharpers,  and  to 
make  up  their  loss,  have  recourse  to  means  productive  of 
dire  events,  instances  of  which  frequently  occur:  for  strict- 
ly speaking,  those  who  set  their  minds  upon  gaming,  can 
hardly  be  honest ;  a  man's  reflections,  after  losing,  render 
him  desperate,  so  as  to  commit  violence  either  upon  him* 
self  or  some  other  person,   and  therefore  gaming  should 
be  discouraged  in  all  well  regulated  communities. 


Whisperers. 
SIR, 

rS  the  ladies  are  naturally  become  the  immediate 
objects  of  your  care,  will  you  permit  a  complaint 
to  be  inserted  in  your  paper,  which  is  founded  upon  a  mat- 
ter of  fact?  They  will  pardon  me,  if  by  laying  before  you 
a  particular  instance  I  was  lately  witness  to  of  their  im- 
proper behavior,  I  endeavored  to  expose  a  reigning  cvv'j 
which  subjects  them  to  many  shame fill  in?! 


mid  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  85 

2.  I  received  last   week  a  dinner  card  from  a  friend, 
with  an  intimation  that  I  should  meet  some  very  agreea- 
ble ladies.     At  my  arrival,   I  found  that  the  company 
consisted  chiefly  of  females,  who  indeed  did  me  the  hon- 
or to  rise,  but  quite  disconcerted  me  in  paying  my  res- 
pects, by  their  whispering  each  other,   and  appearing  to 
stifle  a  laugh.     When   I  was  seated,  the  ladies  grouped 
themselves  up  in  a  corner,  and  entered  into  a  private  ca- 
bal, seemingly  to  discourse  upon  points  of  great  secrecy 
and  importance,  but  of  equal  merriment  and  diversion. 

3.  The  same  conduct  of  keeping  close  to  their  ranks 
v/as  observed  at  table,  where  the  ladies  seated  themselves 
together.     Their   conversation  was    here    also   confined 
wholly  to  themselves,  and  seemed  like  the  mysteries  of 
the  Bona  Dea,  in  which  men  were  forbidden  to  have  any 
share.     It  was  a  continued  laugh  and  a  whisper  -from"  the 
beginning  to  the  end  of  dinner.     A  whole  sentence  was 
source  ever  spoken  aloud. 

4.  Single   words,  indeed,  now  and  then   broke  forth  ; 
such  as,  odious,  horrid,   detestable,    shocking,    HUMBUG.— 
This  last  new-coined  expression,    which  is  only  to  bo 
found  .in  the  nonsensical  vocabulary,   sounds  absurd  an 
disagreeable,   whenever  it  is   pronounced  ;  but  from  the 
mouth  of  a  lady  it  is,  "  shocking,  detestable,  horrible  and 
"  odious." 

5.  My  friend   seemed  to  be  in  an  uneasy  situation  at 
his  own   table  ;  but  I   was  far  more   miserable.     I  was 
mute,  and  seldom  dared  to  lift  up  my  eyes  from  my  plate, 
or  turn  my  head  to  call  for  small  beer,  lest  by  some  auk- 
ward  posture  I  might  draw  upon  me  a  whisper  or  a  laugh. 
Zancho,  when  he  was  forbid  to  eat  of  a  delicious  banquet 
set  before  him,  could  scarce  appear  more  melancholy. 

6.  The  rueful  length  of  rny  face  might  possibly  increase 
the  mirth  of  my  tormentors  :  at  least  their  joy  seemed  to 
rise    in  exact   proportion    with    my  misery.     At  length, 
however,  the    time    of  my  delivery    approached.     Din- 
ner ended,  'the  ladies  made  their  exit  in  pairs,  and  went 
off  hand  in  hand  whispering  like  the  two  kings  of  Brent- 
ford* 

7.  Modest  men,  Mr,   Town,  are  deeply  wounded  when 
they  imagine  themselves  the  objects  of  ridicule  or  con- 
tempt ;  aBd  the  pain  is  the  greater,  when  it  is  given  by 


36         The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

those  whom  they  admire,  and  from  whom  they  are  ambi- 
tious of  receiving  any  marks  of  countenance  and  favor. 
Yet  we  must  allow,  that  affronts  are  pardonable  from  la- 
dies, as  they  are  often  prognostics  of  future  kindness. 

8.  If  a  lady  strikes  our  cheek,  we  can  very   willingly 
follow  the  precept  of  the  gospel,  and  turn  the  other  cheek 
to  be  smitten  :  even  a  blow  from  a  fair  hand  conveys  plea- 
sure.    But  this  battery  of  whispers  is  against   all  legal 
rights  of  war  ;  poisoned  arrows,  and  stabs  in  the  dark,  are 
Dot  more  repugnant  to  the  general  laws  of  humanity. 

9.  Modern  writers  of  comedy  often  introduce  a  pert 
titling  into  their  pieces,  who  is  very  severe  upon  the  rest 
of  the  company  ;  but  all  this  waggery  is  spoken  aside. — 
These  gigglei;s  and  whisperers  seem  to  be  acting  the  same 
part  in  company,  that  this   arch  rogue  does  in  the  play. 
Every  word  or  motion  produces  a  train  of  whispers  ;  the 
dropping  of  a  snuff-box,  or  spilling  the  tea,  is  sure  to  be 
accompanied  with  a  titter  ;  and,  upon  the  entrance  ©f  any 
one  with  something  particular  in  his  person  or  manner,  I 
hai/e  seen  a  whole  room  in  abuzz  like  a  bee-hive. 

10.  This  practice  of  whispering,  if  it  is  any  where 
allowable,    may  perhaps  be    indulged  the    fair    sex    at 
Church,  where  the  conversation  can  only  be  carried  on  by 
the   secret  symbols  of  a  curtsy,  an  ogle,  or  a  nod.     A 
whisper  in  this  place  is  very  often  of  great  use,  as  it  serves 
to  convey  the  most  secret  intelligence,  which  a  lady  would 
be  ready  to  burst  with,  if  she  could  not  find  vent  for  it  by 
this    kind   of  auricular  confession.     A  piece  of  scandal 
transpires  in  this  manner  from  one  pew  to   another,  then 
presently   whizzes    along   the  channel,    from   whence  it 
crawls  up  to  the  galleries,   till  at  last  the  whole  church 
hums  with  it. 

1 1.  It  were  also  to  be  wished,  that  the  ladies  would  be 
pleased  to  confine  themselves  to  whispering  in  their  tete-a- 
tete  conferences  at  an  opera  or  the  pluy-house  ;  which 
would  be  a  proper  deference  to  the  rest  of  the  audience. 
In  France^  we  are  told,  it  is  common  for  the  parterre  to 
join  with  the  performers  in  any  favorite  air  ;  but  we  seem- 
to  have  carried  this  custom  still  further,  as  the  company 
in  our  boxes,  without  concerning  themselves  in  the  least 
with  the  play,  are  even  louder  than  the  players. 

12.  The  wit  and  humor  of  a  Vanbrugh  or  a 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  87 

is  frequently  interrupted  by  a  brilliant  dialogue  between 
two  persons  of  fashion  :  and  a  love  scene  in  the  side-box 
has  often  been  more  attended  to,  than  that  on  the  stage. 
As  to  their  loud  bursts  of  laughter  at  the  theatre,  they 
may  very  well  be  excused,  when  they  are  excited  by  any 
lively  strokes  in  a  comedy:  but  I  have  seen  our  ladies 
titter  at  the  most  distressful  scenes  of  JRo?neo  and  Juliet, 
grin  over  the  anguish  of  a  Monomia  or  Belvidera,  and 
fairly  laugh  king  Lear  off  the  stage. 

13.  Thus  the  whole  behavior  of  these  ladies,  is  in  di- 
rect contradiction  to  good  manners.     They  laugh  when 
they  should  cry,  are  loud  when  they  should  be  silent,  and 
are  silent  when  their  conversation  is  desirable.     If  a  man 
in  a  select  company  was  thus  to  laugh  or  whisper  me  out 
of  countenance,  I  should  be  apt  to  construe   it  as  an  af- 
front, and  demand  an  explanation. 

14.  As  to  the  ladies,    I  would  desire  them  to  reflect 
how  much  they  would  suffer,  if  their  own  weapons  were 
turned  against  them  and  the  gentlemen  should  attack  them 
with  the    same  arts   of  laughing   and  whispering-.     But, 
however  free  they  may  be  from  our  resentment,  they  are 
still  open  to  ill  natured  suspicions.     They  do  not  consider, 
what  strange  constructions  may  be  put  on  these  laughs  snd 
Whispers. 

15.  It  were  indeed,  of  little  consequence,  if  we  only 
imagined,  that  they  were  taking  the  reputation  of  their 
acquaintance  to  pieces,  or  abusing  the   company   round  ;; 
but  when  they  indulge  themselves  in  this  behavior,  some 
perhaps  may  be  led  to  conclude,  that  they  are  discoursing 
upon  topics,  which  they  are  asfcamed  to  speak  of  in  a  less 
private  manner. 

16.  If  the  misconduct,  which   I  have   described,    had 
been  only  to  be  found,  Mr.  Totuti,  at  my   friend's  table, 
I  should  not  have  troubled  you  with  this  letter  :  but  the 
same  kind  of  ill  breeding  prevails  too  often,  and  in  too 
many  places.     The  gigglers  and  the  whisperers  are  innu- 
merable ;  they  beset  us  wherever  we  go  ;  and  it  is  observ- 
able, that  after  a  short  murmur  of  whispers,  out  comes  the 
burst  of  laughter  :  like   a  gun-powder  serpent,  which,  af- 
ter hissing  about  for  some  time,  goes  off  in  a  bounce. 

17.  Some  excuse  may  perhaps  be  framed  for  this  ill 
timed  merriment  in  the  fair  sex.     Venus  the  goddess  of 


88         The  Yoiing 'Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

beauty,  is  frequently  called  the  laughter-loving  dame  :  and 
by  laughing,  our  modern  ladies  may  possibly  imagine,  that 
they  render  themselves  like  Venus*  I  have  indeed  re- 
marked, that  the  ladies  commonly  adjust  their  laugh  to- 
their  persons,  and  are  merry  in  proportion  as  it  sets  off 
their  particular  charms. 

18.  One  lady  is  never  further  moved  than  to  a  smile 
or  a  simper,  because  nothing  else  shows  her  dimples  to  so 
much  advantage  ;  another  who* has  a  fine  set  of  teeth, 
runs  into  a  broad  grin  ;  while  a  third,  who  is  admired  for 
a  well  turned  neck  and   graceful  chest,  calls  up   all  her 
beauties  to  view  by  breaking  into  violent  and  repeated 
peals  of  laughter. 

19.  I  would  not  be  understood  to  impose  gravity  or  too 
great  a  reserve  on  the  fair  sex.     Let  them  laugh  at  a  fea- 
ther ;  but  let  them   declare  openly,  that  it  is  a  feather 
which  occasions  their  mirth.     I  must  confess,  that  laugh- 
ter becomes  the  young,  the  gay,  and  the  handsome  :  but 
a  whisper  is  unbecoming  at  all  ages,  and  in  both  sexes  ; 
nor  ought  it  ever  to  be  practised,  except  in  the  round  gal- 
lery at  St  Paul's,  or  in  the  famous  whispering  place  in 
Gloucester  "cathedral,  wKere  two  whisperers  hear  each  oth- 
er at  the  distance  of  five  and  twenty  yards. 

t)  Sir) 
Your  hu 


J&tittyl 

I.  npHOCGH  the  danger  of  d  iment 

'    JL     in  proportion  to  the  height   of  expect 
I  this  day  claim  the  attention  of  the  ladies,  and 
teach  an  art  by  which  all   may  obtain   v, ' 
been  deemed  the  prerogative  of  a  •'&*,*/:  an 
their  predominant  passion  may  'fee  gr? 
quest  not  only  extended,  but  secured  :  "  '1 
"  PRETTY." 

2.  But  though   rny    subject  may  in"  ladies,  it 

may,  perhaps,  offend  those  profound  moralists,  who  ha*  e 
long   since  determined/  that  b- 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  89 

despised  than  desired  ;  that,  like  strength,  it  is  a  mere 
natural  excellence,  the  effect  of  causes  \vholly  out  of  our 
power,  and  not  intended  either  as  the  pledge  of  happiness 
or  the  distinction  of  merit. 

3.  To  these  gentlemen  I  shall  remark,  that  beauty  is 
among  those  qualities,  which  no  effort  of  human  wit  could 
ever  bring   into  contempt  :  it  is  therefore   to   be  wished 
at  least,  that  beauty  was  in  some  degree  dependant  upon 
sentiment  and  manners,  that  so  high  a  privilege  might 
not  be  possessed  by  the  unworthy,  and  that  human  reason 
might  no  longer  suffer  the  mortification  of  those  who  are 
compelled  to  adore  an  idol,  which  differs  from  a  stone  or 
a  log  only   by  the  skill  of  an  artificer  :  and  if  they  can- 
not  themselves  behold   beauty   with    indifference,    they 
must,  surely,  approve  an  attempt  to  show  that  it  merits 
their  regard. 

4.  I  shall,  however,  principally  consider  that  species 
of  beauty  which  is  expressed  in  the  countenance  :  for  this 
alone  is  peculiar  to  human  beings,  and  is  not  less  compli- 
cated than  their  nature.     In  the   countenance  there  are 
but  two   requisites  to  perfect  beauty,    which  are  wholly- 
produced  by  external  causes,  color  and  proportion  ;  and 
it  will  appear,  that  even  in  common  estimation  these  arc 
not  the  chief  ;  but  that  though  there  may  be  beauty  with- 
out them,  yet  there  cannot  be  beauty  without  something 

,more. 

5.  The  finest  features,  ranged  in  the  most  exact  sym- 
metry, and  heightened  by  the  most  blooming  complexion, 
must  be  animated  before  they  can  strike  ;  and  when  they 
are  animated,  will   generally   excite  the  same    passions 
which  they  express.     If  they  are  fixed  in  the  dead  calm 
of  insensibility,  they  will  be  examined  without  emotion ; 
and  if  they  do  not  express  kindness,  they  will  be  beheld 
without  love. 

6.  Looks  of  contempt,  disdain,  or  malevolence,  will  be 
reflected,  as  from  a  mirror,  by  every  countenance  on  which 
they  are  turned  ;  and  if  a  wanton  aspect  excites  desire,  it 
is  but  like  that  of  a  savage  for  his  prey,   which  cannot  be 
gratified  without  the  destruction  of  its  object. 

7.  Among  particular  graces  the  simple  has  always  been 
allowed   the   pre-eminence,    and  the   reason   is  evident ; 
dimples  are  produced  bv  a  smile,  and  a  smile  is  an  expres- 

H  2 


90        The  Young  Gentleman  and  -Lady's  MONITOR, 

sion  of  complacency  :  so  the  contraction  of  the  brows  in- 
to a  frown,  as  it  is  an  indication  of  a  contrary  temper,  has 
always  been  deemed  a  capital  defect. 

8.  The  lover  is  generally  at  a  loss  to  define  the  beauty, 
by  which  his  passion  was  suddenly  and  irresistibly  deter- 
mined to  a  particular  object  ;  but  this  could  never  happen, 
if  it  depended  upon  any  known  rule  of  proportion  upon  the 
shape  and  disposition  of  the  features,  or  the  color  of  the 
skin':  he  tells  you  that  it  is  something  which  he  cannot 
fully  express,  something  not  fixed  in  any  part,  but  diffus- 
ed over  the  whole  ;  he  calls  it  a  sweetness,  a  softness,  a 
placid  sensibility,  or  gives  it  some  other  appellation  which 
connects  beauty  with  sentiment,   and  expresses  a  charm 
which  is  not  peculiar  to  any  set  of  features,  but  is  perhaps 
possible  to  all. 

9.  This  beauty,  however,  does  not  always  consist  in 
smiles,  but  varies  as  expressions  of  meekness  and  kindness 
vary  with  their  objects  :  it  is  extremely  forcible  in  the  si- 
lent complaint   of  patient  sufferance,   the  tender  solici- 
tude of  friendship,  and  the  glow  of  filial  obedience  ;  and 
in  tears,  whether  of  joy,  of  pity,  or  of  grief,  it  is  almost 
irresistible. 

i(X  This  is  the  charm  which  captivates  without  the 
aid  of  nature,  and  without  which  her  utmost  bounty  isin^ 
cffecual.  But  it  cannot  be  assumed  as  a  mask  to  conceal 
insensibility  or  malevolence  ;  it  must  be  the  genuine 
effect  of  corresponding  sentiments,  or  it  will  impress  up- 
on the  countenance  a  new  and  more  disgusting  deformity, 
affectation  :  it  will  produce  the  grin,  the  simper,  the  stare, 
the  languish,  the  pout,  and  innumerable  other  grimaces?, 
tbat  render  folly  ridiculous,  and  change  pity  to  contempt. 

1 1.  By  some,  indeed,  this  species  of  hypocrisy  has  been 
practised  with  such  skill  as  to  deceive  superficial  observ- 
ers, though  it  Can  deceive  even  these  but  fora  moment. 
Looks  which  do  not  correspond  with  the  heart  cannot  be 
assumed  without  labor,  nor  continued  without  pain  ;  the 
motive  to  relinquish  them  must,  therefore,  soon  prepon- 
derate, and  the  aspect  and  apparel  of  the  visit  will  be  laid 
by  together  :  the  smiles  and  Janguishments  of  art  wilt 
vanish,  and  the  fierceness  of  rage,  or  the  gloom  of  discon- 
tent will  either  obscure  or  destroy  all  the  elegance  of  sym- 
TBetry  and  complexion. 


and  English  Teacher's  -ASSISTANT.  9 1 

12.  The  artificial  aspect  is,  indeed,  as  wretched  a  sub- 
stitute for  the  expression  of  sentiment,  as  the  smear  of 
paint  for  the  blushes  of  health  :  it  is  not  only  equally  tran- 
sient, and   equally  liable  to  dejection  ;  but  as  paint  leaves 
the  countenance  yet  more  withered  and  ghastly,  the  pas- 
sions burst  out  with  more  violence  after  restraint,  the  fea- 
tures become  more  distorted  and  excite  more  determined 
aversion. 

13.  Beauty,  therefore,   depends  principally  upon  the 
mind,  and  consequently,  may  be  influenced  by  education. 
It  has  been  remarked,  that  the  predominate  passion  may 
generally  be  discovered  in  the  countenance  ;  because  the 
muscles  by  which  it  is  expressed,  being  almost  perpetu- 
ally contracted,  lose  their  tone,  and  never  totally  relax  ;  so 
that  the  expression  remains  when  the  passion  is  suspend- 
ed :  thus  an  angry,  a  disdainful,  a  subtil  and  a  suspicious 
temper,  is  displayed  in  characters  that  are  almost  univer- 
sally understood. 

14.  It  is  equally  true  of  the  pleasing  and  the  softer  pas- 
sions, that  they  leave  their  signatures  upon   the  counte- 
nance when  they  cease  to  act :  the  prevalence  of  these  pas- 
sions therefore  produces  a  mechanical  effect  upon  the  as- 
pect, and    gives  a  turn  and  cast  to  the    features  which 
makes  a  more  favorable  and  forcible  impression  upon  the 
mind  of  others,  than  any  charm  produced  by  mere  exter- 
nal causes. 

15*  Neither  does  the  beauty  which  depends  upon  tem- 
per and  sentiment,  equally  endanger  the  possessor  :  "  It 
is,"  to  use  an  eastern  metaphor,  "  like  the  towers  of  a  city, 
u  not  only  an  ornament  but  a  defence  ;"  if  it  excites  de- 
sire, it  at  once  controls  and  rennes  it ;  it  represses  with 
awe,  it  softens  with  delicacy,  and  it  wins  to  imi&tior). 
The  love  of  reason  and  virtue  is  mingled  with  the  love  of 
beauty  ;  because  this  beauty  is  little  more  than  the  ema- 
nation of  intellectual  excellence,  which  is  not  an  object  of 
corporeal  appetite. 

16.  As  it  excites  a  purer  passion,  it  also  more  forcibly 
engages  to  fidelity  :  every  man  finds  himself  more  power- 
fully restrained  from  giving  pain  to  goodness  than  to  beau- 
ty ;  and  every  look  of  a  countenance  in  which  they  are 
Blended,  in  which  beauty  .is  the  expression  of  goodness, 
'is  a  silent  reproach  of  the  first  irregular  \viah ;  and  th? 


92       The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR 

purpose  immediately  appears  to  be  disingenuous  and 
cruel,  by  which  the  tender  hope  of  ineffable  affection 
would  be  disappointed,  the  placid  confidence  of  unsuspect- 
ed simplicity  abused,  and  the  peace  even  of  virtue  endan- 
gered by  the  most  sordid  infidelity,  and  the  breach  of  the 
strongest  obligations. 

17.  But  the  hope  of  the  hypocrite  must  perish.    When 
the   fictitious   beauty    has  laid  by  her  smiles,  when  the 
lustre  of  her  eyes  and  the  bloom  of  her  cheeks  have  lost 
their  influence  with  their   novelty  ;  what  remains  but  a 
tyrant  divested  of  power,  who  will  never  be  seen  without  a 
mixture  of  indignation  and  disdain  ?  The  only  desire  which 
this  object  could  gratify,    will  be  transferred  to  another, 
not  only  without  reluctance,  but  with  triumph. 

18.  As   resentment  will  succeed  to  disappointment,  a 
desire  to  mortify  will  succeed  to  a  desire  to  please  :  and 
the  husband  may  be  urged  to  solicit  a  mistress,  merely  by 
a  remembrance  of  the  beauty   of  his  wife,  which  lasted  ' 
only  till  she  was  known. 

Let  it>  therefore,  be  remembered,  that  none  can  be 
disciples  of  the  Graces,  but  in  the  school  of  Virtue  ;  and 
that  those  who  wish  to  be  lovely,  must  learn  early  to  be 
good. 

19.  \  Friend  of  mine  hns  two  daughters,  whom  I  will 
JL\.  call  Letilia  and  Daphne*  The  former  is  one  of 
the  greatest  beauties  of  the  age  in  which  she  lives,  the 
latter  no  way  remarkable  for  any  charms  in  her  person. 
Upon  this  one  circumstance  of  their  outward  form,  the 
good  and  ill  of  their  life  seem  to  turn.  JLstitia  has  not 
frem  her  very  childhood  heard  any  thing  else  but  corn- 
meliations  of  her  features  and  complexion,  by  which 
means  she  is  n-o  other  than  nature  made  her,  a  very  beau- 
tiful outside. 

20.  The  consciousness  of  her  charms  has  rendered'  her 
insupportably  vain  and  insolent  towards  all  who  have  to 
do  with  her.    Daphne,  who*  was  almost  twenty  before  on« 
civil  thing  had  ever  been  said  to  her,  found  herself  obliged 
to  acquire  some  accomplishments  to  make  up  for  the  want 
of  those  attractions  which  she  saw  in  her  sister. 

21.  Poor  Daphne  xvas  seldom  submitted  to  in  a  debate 
wherein  she  was  concerned  j  her  discourse  had  nothing 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  93 

to  recommend  it  but  the  good  sense  of  it,  and  she  was 
always  under  a  necessity  to  have  very  well  considered  what 
she  was  to  say  before  she  uttered  it  ;  while  Letitia  was 
listened  to  with  partiality,  and  approbation  sat  in  the  coun- 
tenances of  those  she  conversed  with  before  she  communi- 
cated what  she  had  to  say. 

22.  These  causes  have  produced   suitable  effects,  and 
Letitia  is  as  insipid  a  companion,  as  JDafifineis  an  agreeable 
one.     Letitid)  confident '  of    favor   has    studied    no    arts 
to  please  :  Daphne,  despairing  of  any  inclination  towards 
her  person,  has  depended  only  on  her  merit.     Letitia  has 
always  something  in  her  air  that  is  sullen,  grave,  and  dis- 
consolate. 

23.  Daphne  has  a  countenance   that  appears  cheerful, 
open,  and  unconcerned.     A  young  gentleman  saw  Letitia 
this  winter  at  a  play,  and  became  her  captive.  His  fortune 
v/as  such  that  he  wanted  very  little  introduction  to  speak 
bis  sentiments  to  her   father.     The    lover  was  admitted 
with   the  utmost  freedom    into  the  family,   where  a  con- 
strained behavior,  severe  looks,  and  distant  civilities  were 
t-i-2    highest   favors    he   could    obtain    of  Letitia  ;   while 
Da/ihne  used  him  with  the  good  humor,  familiarity,  and 
innocence  of  a  sister. 

24.  Insomuch    that  he  would  often  say   to  her,  Dear 

Daphne,   ivert  thou  but  as  handsome   as  Letitia  ! She 

received  such  language  with  that  ingenious  and  pleasing 
mirth,  which  is  natural  to  a  woman  without  design.     He 
still  sighed  in  vain  for  Leiiiia, :  but  found  certain   relief  in 
the     agreeable     conversation    of    Daphne.     At    length, 
''veorlily  tired  with  the  haughty  impertinence   of  Letitia, 

:h  armed  with  'repeated  instances  of  good  humor  he 
had  observed  in  Daphne,   he  one  day  told  the  latter,  that 
be  had  something  to  say  to  her  he  hoped  she  would  be 
sed  with. 

25.  — — —Faith  Daphne,  continued  he,  lam  in  Icrve  with 
and   despise    thy  sister  sincerely.     The    manner    of 

his  declaring  himself  gave  his  mistress  occasion  for  a  very 

hearty  laughter.-*- A«z/,    says  he,  /  knew  you  would  laugh 

"'  >?v.>  but  I'll  ask'-  your  father.     He   did  so  ;   the   father 

•  ved  his  intelligence  with  no  less  joy  than  surprise,  and 

•cry  glad  he  had  now  no  care  left  but  for  his  beauty, 

thought  he  would  carry  to  market  at  his  leisure* 


94         The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

26.  I  do  not  know  any  thing  that  has  pleased  me  so 
much  a  great  while,  as  this  conquest  of  my  friend  Dajihne's. 
All  her   acquaintance  congratulate  her  upon  her  chance 
rnedly,    and  laugh  at  that  premeditating  murderer,   her 
sister.     As  it  is  an  argument  of  a  light  mind,  to  think 
the  worse  of  ourselves  for  the  imperfections  of  our  persons, 
it  is  equally  below  us  to  value  ourselves  upon  the  advanta- 
ges of  them. 

27.  The  female  world  seem  to  be  almost  incorrigibly; 
gone  astray  in  this  particular  ;  for  which  reason,  I  shall 
recommend  the  following  extract  out  of  a  friend's  letter 
to  the  profess'd  beauties,    who  are  a  people  almost  as  in- 
sufferable as  the  profess'd  wits. 

*  Monsieur  St.  Evremont  has  concluded  one  of  his 
c  essays  with  affirming,  that  the  last  sighs  of  a  handsome 
'  woman  are  not  so  much  for  the  loss  of  her  life,  as  her 

*  beauty. 

28.  <  Perhaps  this  raillery  is  pursued  too  far,  yet  it  is 

*  turned  upon  a  very  obvious  remark,  that  woman's  strong- 
4  est  passion  is  for  her  own  beauty,  and  that  she  values  it 
4  as  her  favorite    distinction.     From  hence  it  is  that  all 

*  hearts,  which  intend  to  improve  or  preserve  it,  meet  with 
'  so  general  a  reception  among  the  sex. 

29.  <  To  say  nothing  of  many  false  helps,  and  contra- 

*  band  wares  of  beauty,  which   are  daily  vended  in  this 

*  great  mart,  there  is  not  a  maiden  gentlewoman^  of  a  good 

*  family  in  any  county  of  South  Britain,  who  has  not  heard 

*  of  the  virtues  of  may-dew,    or  is  unfurnished  with  some 
4  receipt  or  other  in  favor  of  her  complexion  ;  and  I  have 

*  known  a  physician  of  learning  and  sense,  after  eight  years 
1  study  in  the  university,  and  a  course  of  travels  into  most 

*  countries  of  JEuro/ie,  owe  the  first  raising  of  his  fortune 

*  to  a  cosmetic  wash. 

30.  <  This    has  given  me  occasion  to  consider  how  so 
<  universal   a  disposition   in   womankind,   which    springs 
'  from  a  laudable  motive,  the  desire  of  pleasing,  and   pro- 

*  ceeds  upon  an  opinion,  not  altogether  groundless,  that 

*  nature  may  be   helped  by  art,  may  be  turned  to  their 
'  advantage.     And,  methinks,  it  would  be  an  acceptable 
c  service  to  take  them  out  of  the  hands  of  quacks  and  pre- 
'  tenders,  and  to  prevent  their  imposing  upon  themselves, 

*  by  discovering  to  them  the  true  secret  and  art  of  impro- 
'  ving  beauty. 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  95 

31.. c  In  order  to  this,  before  I  touch  upon  it  directly,  it 
4  will  be  necessary  to  lay  down  a  few  preliminary  max- 
4  ims,  viz. 

*  That  no  woman  can  be  handsome  by  the  force  of  fea- 
4  tures  alone,  any  more  than  she  can  be  witty  only  by  the 
4  help  of  speech. 

4  That  pride  destroys  all  symmetry  and  grace,  and  af- 

*  fectation  is  a  more  terrible  enemy  to  fine  faces  than  the 

*  small-pox. 

*  That  no  woman  is  capable  of  being  beautiful,  who  is 

*  not  incapable  of  being  false* 

*  And,  That  what  would  be  odious  in  a  friend,  is  de- 
4  formity  in  a  mistress. 

S3.  4  From  these  few  principles  thus  laid  down,  it  will 
4  be  easy  to  prove,  that  the  true  art  of  assisting  beauty  con- 
4  sists  in  embellishing  the  whole  person  by  the  proper  or- 
4  naments  of  virtuous  and  co-mm  end  able  qualities.  By  this 
4  help  alone  itls,  that  those  who  are  the  favorite  work  of 

*  nature,   or  as  Mr.  Dryden  expresses  it,  the  porcelain 
4  clay  of  human  kind,  become  animated,  and   are  in  a 
4  capacity  of  exerting  their  charms  ;  and  those  who  seem, 
4  to  have  been  neglected  by  her,  like  models  wrought  in 
4  haste,  are  capable,  in  a  great  measure,  of  finishing  what 

*  she  has  left  imperfect. 

S3.  4  It  is,  methinks,  a  low  and  degrading  idea  of  that 
4  sex,  which  was  created  to  refine  the  joys,  and  soften  the 

*  cares  of  humanity,  by  the  most  agreeable  participation* 
4  to  consider  them  merely  as  objects  of  sight.     This  is 
4  abridging  them  to  their  natural  extent  of  power  to  put 
4  them  upon  a  level  with  their  pictures  at  the  pantheon* 
4  How  much  nobler  is  the  contemplation  of  beauty  height- 

*  ened  by  virtue,  and  commanding  our  esteem  and  lovej 
4  while  it  draws  our  observation  ? 

34.  4  How  faint  and  spiritless  are  the  charms  of  a  co- 

*  quette,  when  compared  with  the  real  loveliness  of  Sofih- 
4  ronia's  innocence,  piety,  good  humor,  and  truth  ;  virtues 

*  which  add  a  new  softness  to  her  sex,  and  even  beautify 
4  her   beauty  !  That   agreeableness,  which    must  other* 
4  wise  have  appeared  no  longer  in  the  modest  virgin,  is 
4  now  preserved  in  the  tender  mother,  the  prudent  friend 
4  and  faithful  wife. 


96        The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

35.  c  Colors  artfully  spread  upon  canvass  may  entertain 
4  the  eye,  but  not  affect  the  heart ;  and  she,  who  takes  no 
4  care  to  add  to  the  natural  graces  of  her  person,  any  excel- 
4  ling  qualities,  may  be  allowed  still  to  amuse  as  a  picture, 
4  but  not  to  triumph  as  a  beauty. 

4  When  Mam  is  introduced  by  Milton  describing  Eye 
4  in  Paradise,  and  relating  to  the  angel  the  impressions  he 
4  felt  upon  seeing  her  at  her  first  creation,  he  does  not 

*  represent  her  like  a  Grecian  Venus,  by  her  shape  of  fea- 
6  lures,  but  by  the  lustre  of  her  mind  which  shone  in  them, 
4  and  gave  them  their  power  of  charming. 

26.   Grace  tvas  in  all  her  steps,  Heaven  in  her  eye, 
In  all  her  gestures  dignify  and  love  : 

*  Without  this  irradiating  power,  the  proudest  fair  one 
4  ought  to  know,  whatever  her  glass  may  tell  her  to  the 
*•  contrary,  th*at  her  most  perfect  features  are  uninformed 

*  and  dead. 

4  I  cannot  better  close  this  moral,  than  by  a  short  epi- 
'  taph,  written  by  Ben  Johnson,  with  a  spirit  which  nothing 

*  could  inspire^  but  such  an  object  as  I  have  been  describ- 
6  ing. 

Underneath  this  stone  doth  lie, 
jis  much  -virtue  as  could  die  ; 
Which  when  alive  did  vigor  give 
To  as  much  beauty  as  could  live. 

lam,  SIR, 

Your  most  humble  servant. 

R,  B. 

SPECTATOR,  Vol.  I.  NO.  33. 

Honor. 

1.  T71  VERY  principle  that  is  a  .motive  to  good  actions, 
SL  A  ought  to  be  encouraged,  since  men  are  of  so  dif- 
ferent a  make,  that  the  same  principle  does  not  work 
equally  upon  all  minds.  What  some  men  are  prompted 
to  by  conscience,  duty,  o3  religion,  which  are  only  clif- 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  9? 

ferent  names  for  the  same  thing,  others  are  prompted  to 
by  honor. 

2.  The  sense  of  honor  is  of  so  fine  and  delicate  a  na- 
ture, that  it  is  only  to  be  met  with  in  minds  which  are 
naturally  noble,   or  in  such  as  have  been  cultivated  by 
great    examples,    or  a   refined    education.     This  paper 
therefore  is  chiefly  designed  for  those  who  by  means  of 
any  of  these  advantages,  are,  or  ought  to  be,  actuated  by 
this  glorious  principle. 

3.  But  as  nothing  is  more  pernicious  than   a  principle 
or  action,  when  it  is  misunderstood,  I  shall  consider  hon- 
or with  respect  to  three  sorts  of  men.     First  of  all,  with 
regard  to  those  who  have  a  right  notion  of  it.     Secondly, 
with  regard  to  those  who  have    a  mistaken  notion  of  it. 
And  thirdly,  with  regard  to  those  who  treat  it  as  chimer- 
ical, and  turn  it  into  ridicule. 

4.  In  the  first  place,  true  honor,  though   it  be   a  dif- 
ferent principle  from  religion,  is  that  which  produces  the 
same  effects.     The   lines  of  action,  though  drawn   from 
different  parts,  terminate   in  the  same  point.     Religion 
embraces  virtue,  as  it  is  enjoined  by  the  laws  of  God  ; 
honor,  as  it  is  graceful  and  ornamental  Co  human  na- 
ture. 

5.  The  religious  man/rars,  the  man  of  honor  scorn? 
to  do  an  ill  action.     The  former  considers  vice  as  some- 
thing that  is  beneath  him,  the  other  as  something  that  is 
offensive  to  the  Divine  Being.     The  one  'is  what'is  unbe- 
coming^ the    other  is   what  is  forbidden.     Thus    Seneca 
speaks  in  the  natural  and  genuine  language   of  a  man  of 
honor,  whea   he  declares  that  were  there  no  God  to  see 
or  punish  vice,  he  would  not  commit  it,  because  it  is  of 
so  mean,  so  base,  and  so  vile  a  nature* 

6.  I  shall  conclude  this  head  with   the  description  of 
honor  in  the  part  of  young  Jula. 

Honor's  a  sacred  tie,  the  law  of  kings, 

The  noble  mind 's  distinguishing  perfection, 

That  aids  and  strengthens  -virtue  where,  it  meets  /;??% 

slnd  imitates  her  actions  where  she  is  not. 

It  ought  not  to  be  sported  with CATC, 

7.  In  the  second  place  we  are  to  consider  those  who 
have  mistaken  notions  of  honor,    and  thes<3  are  such  an 
establish  any  thing  to  themselves  for  a  point  of  honor 


98         The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

which  Is  contrary  either  to  the  laws  of  God,  or  of  their 
country  ;  who  think  it  is  more  honorable  to  revenge  than 
to  forgive  an  injury  ;  who  make  no  scruple  of  telling  a 
lie,  but  would  put  any  man  to  death  who  accuses  them 
of  it ;  who  are  more  careful  to  guard  their  reputation  by 
their  courage  than  by  their  virtue. 

8.  True  fortitude  is  indeed  so  becoming  in  human  na- 
ture, that  he  who  wants  it  scarce  deserves  the  name  of  a 
man  ;  but  we  find  several  who  so  much  abuse  tins  notion, 
that  they  place  the  whole  idea  of  honor  in  a  kind  of  .bru- 
tal courage  ;  by  which  means  we  have  had  many  among 
us  who  have  called  themselves  men  of  honor,  that  would 
.have  been  a  disgrace  to  a  gibbet. 

9.  In   a  word,   the  man  who  sacrifices  any  duty  of  a 
reasonable  creature  to  a  prevailing  mode  of  fashion,  who 
looks  upon  any  thing  as  dishonorable  that  is  displeasing 
u>  his  Maker,  or  destructive  to  society,  who  thinks  himself 
obliged  by  this  principle  to  the  practice  of  some  virtues 
and  not  to  others,  is  by  no  means  to  be  reckoned  among 
crue  men  of  honor. 

10.  Timogenes  was  a  lively  instance  of  one  actuated  by 
false  honor.     Timogenes  would  smile  at  a  man's  jest  who 
ridiculed  his  Maker,  and  at  the  same  time  run   a  man 
through  the  body  that  spoke  ill  of  his  friend.     Thnoger.es 
•would 'have  scorned  to   have  betrayed  a  secret,  that  was 
intrusted   with  him,  though   the    fate  of  his  country  de- 
pended upon  the  discovery  of  it. 

11.  Timogenes  took  away  the  life  of  a  young  fellow  in 
a  duel,  for  having  spoken  ill  of  Belinda,  a  lady  whom  he 
Iiimself  had   seduced  in   her  youth,  and  betrayed  into 
"vant  and  ignominy.     To  close  his  character,  Timogenesy 
after  having  ruined  several  poor  tradesmen's  families,  who 
had  trusted  him,  sold  his  estate  to  satisfy  his  creditors  ; 
but  like  a  man  of  honor  disposed   of  all   the  money  he 
could  make  of  it,  in  paying  off  his  play-debts,  or  to  speak' 
•n  his  ov  n  language,  his  debts  of  honor. 

12.  In  the  third  place,  we  are  to  consider  those  persons 
~vho  treat   this  principle  as  chimerical,    and  turn  it  into 
ridicule.     Men  who  are  professedly  of  no  honor,  are  of 
a  more  profligate  and  abandoned  nature,  than  even  those 
who   are  actuated  by  false  notions  of  it,  as  there  is  more 
i-o-)?  or  •*  b  'n  of  an  atheist.     These  sons  of  infamy 


iptf4^Sf4pi  TVtff&rV  ASSISTANT, 
:cr  honor  viih  old  Sj£Aojt%  : 

: 

. 

ey  are  engager  i  shadow 

13.    These  are  generally  persons,  who,  in  S&: 
>  e%  are  *w*  cnrf  fodbiey*rf  m  M*  ««y*  ^T  iss^fif  :  - 
TAtknis  are  grown  callous,  and  hare  lost  all 
delicc  ..tare 

innocent  and  utidep  old  battei^ed  raise: 

lidici.  i hat  comes  r 

tion  with  their  present  interest,  and  treat  those  persons  as 
visionaries  who  dare  stand  t::  rrupt  agt:. 

ot  its  immediate  rewai\. 

make  tbt<- 

.     Bu:   whatever 
arrive 

e  annals  of  his  cou 

temple  of  fsxtor  bjr  aujr  other   way  ihan  . 
; 

. 


T 

JL  *  sp 

f  it  pleasant  and  t 

x  oaiv  * 


i  th  i  ck  pronounced  *&- 

stof: 
P  bur,: 

:n  as  m  .  am- 

tnir 


100      The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

*  nature  and  measures  of  right  and  wrong,  than  to  settle 
'  the  distance  of  the  planets,  and  compute  the  times  of 
'  their  circumvolutions. 

3.  One  good  effect  that  will  immediately  arise  from 
4  a  near  observation  of  human  nature,  is,  that  we  shall  cease 
'  to  wonder  at  those  actions  which  men  are  used  to  reckon 
4  wholly  anaccountable  ;  for  as  nothing  is  produced  with- 
'  out  a  cause,  so  by  observing. the  nature  and  course  of  the 
'  passions,  we  shall  be  able  to  trace  every  action  from  its 
'  first  conception  to  its  death. 

4.  '  We   shall  no  more  admire  at  the  proceedings  of 
4  Cataline  and  Tiberius,  when  we  know  the  one  was  actua-r 

*  ted  by  a  cruel  jealousy,  the  other  by  a  furious  ambition  ;. 
4  for  the  actions  of  men  follow  their  passions  as  naturally 
'  as  light  does  heat,  or  as  any  other  effect  flows  from  its 

*  cause  ;  reason  must  be  employed  in  adjusting  the  pas- 
1  sions,  but  they  must  ever  remain  the  principles  of  action.- 

5.  '  The  strange  and  absurd  variety  that  is  so  apparent 
'in    men's  actions,    shows   plainly    they  never  proceed 

*  immediately  from  reason  ;  so  pure  a  fountain  emits  no 

*  such  troubled  waters  ;  they  must  necessarily  arise  from 
'  the  passions,  which  are  to  the  mind   as  the  winds  to  a 
4  ship ;    they  only    can   move     it,    and  they  _  too    often 
4  destroy  it  :  if  fair   and   gentle,   they   guide   it    into  the 
'  harbor  ;  if  contrary  and  furious,    they  overset  it  in  the 

*  waves. 

6.  '  In  the  same  manner  is  the  mind  assisted  or  endan- 

<  gered  by  the  passions  ;  reason  must  then  take  the  place 

<  of  pilot,  and  can  never  fail  of  securing  her  charge  if 
f  she  be  not  wanting  to  herself;  the  strength  of  the  pas- 


get  the  upper 
'  trays  the  liberty  of  his  own  soul. 

7.  <  As  nature  has  framed  the  several  species  of  beings 
?,'  as  it-were  in  a.  chain,  so  man'  seems  to  be  placed  as  the 
'middle  link  between  angels  raid  brutes  ;  hence  he  par- 
<  ticipatea  both  of  flesh  and  spirit  by  an  admirable  tye, 
''which  in  hirh  occasions  perpetual  war  of  passions; 
'I  and  as  a  man  inclines  to  the  angelic  cr  brute  part  of  liis 
*  constitution,  he  is  then  denominated  good  or  bad,  vjr- 
4  tuous  or  wicked  :  if  love,  mercy,  and  good  nature 


and  English  Tcac/ier's  ASSISTANT,  101 

<  prevail,  they  speak  him  of  the  angel  ;  if  hatred,  cruelty., 

*  and  envy  predominate,  they  declare  his  kindred  to  the 

*  brute. 

8.  '  Hence'  it  was  that  some  ancients  imagined,  that  as 

<  men  in  this  life  inclined  more  to  the  angel  or  the  brute, 

*  so  after  their  death  they  should  transmigrate  into  the  one 

*  or  the  other  ;  and  it  would  be  no  unpleasant   notion  10 
4  consider  the  several  species  of  brutes,  into  which  we  may 

*  imagine  that  tyrants,  misers,  the  proud;  malicious,  and 

<  ill  natured,  might  be  changed. 

9.  '  As  a  consequence  of  this  original,  all  passions  are 

<  in  all  men,   but  appear  not  in  all :  constitution,  educa- 

*  tion,  custom  of  the  country,  reason,  and  the  like  causes 
4  may  improve  or  abate  the  strength  of  them,  but  still  the 

*  seeds  remain,  which  are  ev^r  ready  to  sprout  forth  upon 
s  the  least  encouragement. 

10.  *  I  have  heard  a  story  of  a  good  religious  man,  who 

*  having  been  bred  with    the  milk  of  a  goat,   was  very 
'  modest  in  public,  by  a  careful  reflection  he  made  on  his 
(  actions,  but  he  frequently  had  an  hour  in  secret,  wherein 
4  he  had  his  frisks  and  capers  ;  and,  if  we  had  an  oppor- 
4  tunity  of  examining  the  retirement  of  the  strictest  phi- 
4  losophers,  no  doubt  but  we  should  find  perpetual  return? 
'  of  those  passions  they  so  artfully  conceal  from  the  public- 

11.  *  I  remember  Alachicrjol  observes,  that  every  state 
'should  entertain  a   perpetual  jealousy  of  its  neighbors, 
c  that  so   it  should  never  be  unprovided  when-  an   emer- 
4  gency  happens  ;  in  like  manner  should  reason  be  per- 
'  petually    on  its  guard  against  the  passions,   and  never 
'  sufferthem  to  carry  on  any  design  that  may  be  destruc- 

*  tive  of  its  security  ;   yet,  r.t  the  vune   time,  it  must  be 
'  careful,  that  it  don't   so  far  break  their   strength   as  to 

*  render  them  contemptible,  and,  consequently,  itself  un- 

*  guarded. 

12.  6  The  understanding  being  of  itself  too  slow  and 
(  lazy  to  exert  itself  into  action,   it  is  necessary  it  should 

*  be  put  in  motion  by  the  genile  gales  of  passions,  which 
'  may  preserve  it  from   stagnating   and  corruption  ;   for 

*  they  are  necessary    to  the  health  of  the  niind,    as   the 
1  circulation  of  the  animal  spirits   is  to  the  health  of  the 
4  body  ;  they  keep  it  in   life,  and  strength,  and    vigor  ? 

*  nor  is  it  possible    ibr   the  mind  to  perform  its  'office? 

I  ?, 


102       The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

4  without   their  assistance;    these  motions  are   given  us 

*  with  our  being-  ;  they  are  little    spirits,  that  are    bora 
4  and  die  with  us  ;  to  some  they  are  mild,  easy  and  gen- 
4  tie  ;    to   others    wayward   and  unruly  ;  yet  never  too 
4  strong  for  the  reigns  of  reason,  and  the  guidance  of 
4  judgment. 

13.  '  We  may  generally  observe  a  pretty  nice  proper- 
(  tion  between   the  strength  of  reason    and  passion  ;  the 
4 -greatest  geniuses  have  commonly  the  strongest  afFec- 

*  tions,  as  on  the  other  hand,  the  weaker  understandings 
4  have   generally    the   weaker  passions  :  and    'tis  fu  the 
4  fury   of  the  coursers  should   not  be  too  great  for  the 

*  strength  of  the  charioteer. 

14.  4  Young  men  whose  passions  are  not  a  little  unru- 
4  ly,  give   small  hopes  of  their  ever  being  considerable  ; 
4  the  fire  of  youth  will  of  course  abate,  and  is  a  fault,  if  it 
4  be  a  fault,  that  mends  every  d&y  ;  but  surely,  unless  a 

*  man  has  fire   ia  youth,  he  can  hardly  have  warmth  in 
i  old  age. 

15.  4  We  must  therefore  be  very  cautious,  lest  while 
4  we  think  to  regulate  the  passions,  we  should  quite   ex- 

*  tingui&h  them  which  is  putting  out  the   light  of  the 

*  soul ;  for  to  be  without  passion,  or  lobe  hurried  away 
4  with  it,  makes  a  man  equally  blind.     The  extraordina- 
4  ry    severity  used  in  most  of  our  schools  has  this  fatal 
4  cSect  ;  it  breaks  the  spring  of  the  mind,  and  most  cer- 
4  tainly  destroys  more  good  geniuses  than  it  can  possibly 
4  i  mprove. 

16.  *  And  surely  'tis  a  mighty-  mistake  that  the  passions 
4  should   be  so  entirely   subdued  ;   for  little  irregularities 
4  are  sometimes  not  only  to  be  bore  v/ith,  but  to  be  culti- 
4  vated  too    since  they  are  frequently  attended  with  the 
4  greatest  perfections,      All   great  geniuses  have  faults 
1  mixed  with  their  virtues,  and  resemble  the  flaming  bush 
4  which  has  thorns  amongst  lights. 

17.  *  Since  therefore  the  passions  are  the  principles  of 
4  human  actions,  we  must  endeavor  to  manage  them  so 
c  as  to  retain  their  vigor,  yet  keep  them  under  strict  com- 
4  mand  ;  we  must  govern  them  rather  like  free  subjects 

<  than  slaves,  lest,  while  we  intend  to  make  them  obedient, 

<  they  become  abject,  and  unfit  for  those   great  purposes 

*  to  which  they  were  designed* 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  10S 

18,  '  For  my  part,  I  must  confess,  I  could  never  have 
any  regard  to  that  sect  of  philosophers,  who  so  much  in- 
sisted  upon  an  absolute  indifference  and  vacancy  from  all 
passion  ;  for  it  seems  to  me  a  thing  very  inconsistent 
for  a  man  to  divest  himself  of  humanity,  in  order  to  ac- 
quire  tranquillity  of  mind,  and  to  eradicate  the  very  prin- 
ciples  of  action,  because  it  is  possible  they  may  produce 
ill  effects. 

/  am   SIR, 

Your  affectionate  admirer, 

T.  B." 

SPECTATOR,  Vol.  IV.  NO.  408. 


The  advantages  of  representing  Human  Nature  in  its  proper 
Dignity. 

TATTLER,  NO.  198. 

IT  is  not  to  be  imagined  how  great  an  effect  well  dis- 
posed lights,  with  proper  forms  and  orders  in  assem- 
blies, have  upon  some  tempers.  I  am  sure  I  feel  it  in  so 
extraordinary  a  manner,  that  I  cannot  in  a  day  or  two  get 
out  of  rny  imagination  any  very  beautiful  or  disagreeable 
impression  which  I  receive  on  such  occasions.  For  this 
reason  I  frequently  look  in  at  the  play-house,  in' order  to 
enlarge  my  thoughts,  and  warm  my  mind  with  some  new 
ideas,  that  may  be  serviceable  to  me  in  my  lucubrations1. 

1.  In  this  disposition  I  entered  the  theatre  the  other 
day,  and  placed  myself  in  a  corner  of  it,  very  convenient 
for  seeing,  without  being  myself  observed.  I  found  the 
audience  hushed  in  a  very  deep  attention,  and  did  not 
question  but  some  noble  tragedy  was  just  then  in  its  crisis, 
or  that  an  incident  was  to  be  unravelled  which  would  de- 
termine the  fate  of  an  hero.  While  Iwas  in  this  suspence, 
expecting  every  moment  to  see  my  old  friend  Mr.  Bitter- 
ton,  appear  in  all  the  majesty  of  distress,  to  rny  unspeak- 
able amazement,  there  came  up  a  monster  with  a  face  be- 
tween his  feet :  and  as  I  was  looking  on,  hs  raised  him- 
self on  one  leg  in  such  a  perpendicular  posture/that  the 
other  grew  in  a  direct  line  above  his  head. 


104       The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's 

2.  It    afterwards    twisted    itself  into  the  motions   and 
wreathings  of  several  different   animals,  and  after  grt'at 
variety  of  shapes  and  transformations,  went  off  the  stage, 
in  the  figure  of  a  human  creature.     The  admiration,  the 
applause,  the   satisfaction    of  the    audience,  during  this 
strange  entertainment,  is  not  to  be  expressed.    I  was  very 
much  out  of  countenance  for  my  dear  countrymen,   and 
looked  about  with  some   apprehension,  for  fear  any  for- 
eigner should  be  present. 

3.  Is  it  possible,  thought  I,  that  hivman  nature  can  re- 
joice in  its  disgrace,  and  take  pleasure   in  seeing  its  own 
figure  turned  into  ridicule,   and  distorted   into  forms  that 
raise  horror  and  aversion  1  There  is  something  disingen- 
uous and  immoral  in  the  being  able  to  bear  such  a  sight. 
Men  of  elegant  and  noble  minds  are  shocked  at  the  seeing 
characters  of  persons  who  deserve  esteem  for  their  virtue, 
knowledge,  or  services   to  their  country,  placed  in  wrong 
lights,  and  by  misrepresentation  made  the  subject  of  buf- 
foonery. 

4.  Such  a   nice  abhorrence  is  not  indeed  to  be  found 
among  the  vulgar  ;  but   methmks   it  is   wonderful,  that 
those  who  have  nothing   but  the  outward  figure  to  distin- 
guish them  as  men,   should  delight  in  seeing  it  abused, 
vilified  and  disgraced* 

I  must  confess  there  is  nothing  that  more  pleases  me, 
in  all  that  I  read  in  books,  or  see  among  mankind,  than 
such  passages  as  represent  human  nature  in  its  proper 
dignity. 

5.  As  man  is  a  creature  made  up  of  different  extremes, 
he  has  something  in  him  very  great  and  very  mean  :  a 
skilful  artist-  may  draw  an  excellent  picture  of  him  in  ei- 
ther of  these  views.    The  finest  authors  of  antiquity  have 
taken  him   on  the  more  advantageous  side.     They  culti- 
tivate  the  natural  grandeur  of  the  soul,  raise  in  her  a  gen- 
erous ambition,  feed  her  with  hopes  of  immortality  and 
perfection,   and  do  all  they  can   to  widen  the  partition  be- 
tween the  virtuous  and  the  vicious,  by  making  the  differ- 
ence betwixt  them  as  great  as  between  gods  and  brutes, 

6.  In  short,  it  is  impossible   to   read  a  page  in  Plato, 
Tally,    and   a  thousand    other  ancient  moralists,  without 
being  a  greater  and  a   better  man  for  it.     On  the  con- 
trary,  I  could  never  read  any   of  our  modish  French 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  105 

authors,  or  those  of  our  own  country  who  are  the  imitators 
and  admirers  of  that  trifling  nation,  without  being  for 
some  time  out  of  humor  with  myself,  and  at  every  thing 
about  me. 

7.  Their  business  is,  to  depreciate  human  nature,  and 
consider  it  under  its  worst  appearances.    They  give  mean 
interpretations  and  base  motives  to  the  worthiest  actions  ; 
they  resolve  virtue  and  vice  into  constitution.     In  short, 
they  endeavor  to  make  no  distinction  between  man  and 
man,  or  between  the  species  of  men  and  that  of  brutes.  As 
an  instance  of  this  kind  of  authors,  among  many  others, 
let  any   one   examine    the  celebrated  Rochefaucault,   who 
is  the   great  philosopher    for    administering    of    conso- 
lation to  the  idle,  the  envious,  and  worthless  part  of  man- 
kind. 

8.  I  remember  a  young  gentleman  of  moderate  under- 
standing, but  great  vivacity,  who,  by  dipping  into  many 
authors  of  this  nature    had    got    a  little   smattering  of 
knowledge,  just  enough  to  make  an  Atheist  or  a  free- 
thinker, but  not  a  philosopher  or  a  man  of  sense.     With 
these  accomplishments,  he  went  to  visit  his  father  in  the 
country,  who  was  a  plain,  rough,  honest  man,  and  wise 
though  not  learned.     The  son,  who  took  all  opportunities 
to  show  his  learning,  began  to  establish  a  new  religion  in 
the  family,  and  to  enlarge  the  narrowness  of  their  country 
notions  ;  in  which  he  succeeded  so  well,  that  he  had  sedu- 
ced the  butler  by  his  table  talk,  and  staggered  his  eldest 
sister. 

9.  The  old  gentleman  began   to  be  alarmed   at  the 
schisms  that  arose  among  the  children,   but  did  not  yet 
believe  his  son's  doctrine  to  be  so  pernicious  as  it  really  was, 
till  one  day  talking  of  his  setting-dog,  the  son  said,  he  did 
not  question  but  Trey  was  as  immortal  as  any  one  of  the 
family  ;   and  in  the  heat  of  the  argument  told  his  father, 
that  for  his  own  part  he  expected  to  die  like  a  dog.    Upon 
v/hlch,  the  old  man  starting  up  in  a  very  great  passion, 
cried  out,  Then,    sirrah,    you  shall  live   like   one  ;   and 
taking  his  cane  in  his   hand,  cudgelled    him   out   of  hid 
system.     This  had  so  good  an   effect  upon  him,  that  he 
took  up  from  that  day,   fell  to  reading  good  books,  and  .is 
15 ow  a  bencher  in  the  Middle  Temple. 

10.  I  do  not  mention  this   cudgelling  part  of  the  stcry 


106     The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

vrith  a  design  to  engage  the  secular  arm  in  matters  of  this 
nature  ;  but  certainly,  if  it  ever  exerts  itself  in  affairs 
of  opinion  and  speculation,  it  ought  to  do  it  on  such 
shallow  and  despicable  pretenders  to  knowledge,  -who 
endeavor  to  give  man  dark  and  uncomfortable  prospects 
of  being,  and  destroy  those  principles  which  are  the  sup- 
pbit,  happiness  and  glory  of  all  public  societies,  as  well  as 
private  persons, 

11.  I  think   it  is   one   of  Pythagoras' s  golden  sayings, 
that  a  man  should  take' care  above  all  things    to  have  a  due 
respect  for,  himself 'j  and  it  is  certain,   that  this  licentious 
sort  of  authors,  who  are  for  depreciating  mankind,  en- 
deavor  to    disappoint   and  undo  what  the    most   refined 
spirits    have   been  laboring  to  advance  since  the  begin- 
ning of  the   world.     The   very   design   of  dress,   good- 
breeding,  outward  ornaments  and  ceremony,  were  to  lift 
\Tp  human   nature,  and  set  it  oft"  to  advantage.     Archi- 
tecture,  painting  and    statuary,  were   invented  with  the 
same  design  ;  as  indeed  every  art  and  science  that  contri- 
butes to  the  embellishment  of  life,  and  to  the  wearing  off 
and  throwing  into  shades  the  mean  and  low  parts  of  our 
nature. 

12.  Poetry  carries  on  this  great  end  more  than  all  the 
rest,  as  may  be  seen  in  the  following  passages  taken  out  of 
Sir  Francis  Bacon's  advancement  of  learning,  which    gives 
a  true  and  better  account  of  this  art  than   all  the  volumes 
that  were  ever  written  upon  it. 

"  Poetry,  especially  heroical,  seems  to  be  raised  alto- 
"  gether  from  a  noble  foundation,  which  makes  much 
"  for  the  dignity  of  man's  nature.  For  seeing  this  sen- 
"  sible  world  is  in  dignity  inferior  to  the  soul  of  man, 
"  poesy  seems  to  endow  human  nature  with  that  which 
"  history  denies  ;  and  to  give  satisfaction  to  the  mind, 
"with  at  least  the  shadow  of  things,  where  the  substance 
"'  cannot  be  had. 

13.  "  For  if    the  matter  be   thorcng'^y     ron^drrec!, 
**  a  strong  argument  may  .be  drawn  from  poesy,   that  a 
"  more  stately  greatness  of  things,  a  more  perfect  order 
"  and  a  more  beautiful  variety,  delights  the  sou]  of  man 
"  than   uny  way  can  be    fourscl   in  nature   since  the   fall. 
"  Wherefore,  seeing  the  acts  and  events,  which  are  the 
"  subjects  of  -true,  history,  ure  not  of  that  amplitude .  as 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  107 

u  to  content  the  mind  of  man,  poesy  is  ready  at  hand  to 
u  feign  acts  more  heroical. 

H*  "  Because  true  history  reports  the  successes  of 
"  business  not  proportionable  to  the  merit  of  virtues  and 
"  vices,  poesy  corrects  it,  and  presents  events  and  fortunes 
"  according  to  desert,  and  according  to  the  law  of  Provi- 
"  dence  :  because  true  history,  through  the  frequent  sa- 
"  tiety  and  similitude  of  things,  works  a  distaste  and  mis- 
"  prision  in  the  mind  of  man  ;  poesy  cheereth  and  re- 
4i  fresheth  the  soul,  chanting  things  rare  and  various,  and 
"  full  of  vicissitudes. 

15.  "  So  as  poesy  serveth  and  conferreth  to  delectation, 
"  magnanimity  and  morality  ;  and  therefore  it  may  seem 
"  deservedly  to  have   some  participation  of  divineness, 
"  because   it  doth  raise  the  mind,   and  exalt  the  spirit 
"  with  high  raptures,*proportioning  the  shows  of  things 
"  to  the  desires  of  the  mind,  and  not  submitting  the  mind 
"  to  things  as  reason  and  history  do.     And  by  these  alt 
"  lurements  and  congruities,  whereby  it  cherisheth  the 
41  soul  of  man,  joined  also  with  comfort  of  music,  where- 
"  by   it  may  more  sweetly  insinuate  itself ;  it  hath  won 
"  such  access,  that  it  hath  been  in  estimation  even  in  rude 
"  times,  and  barbarous  nations,  when  our  learning  stood 
"  excluded." 

16.  But  there  is  nothing  which  favors  and  falls  in  with 
this   natural    greatness  and  dignity  of  human  nature  so 
much  as  religion,  which  does  not  only  promise  the  entire! 
resignment  of  the  mind,  but  the  glorifying  of  the  body, 
and  the  immortality  of  both. 


Custom  a  second  JVaturc. 

1.  rT"^HER'E  is  not  a  common  saying  which  has  a  bet- 
JL  ter  turn  of  sense  in  it  than  what  we  often  hear 
in  the  mouths  of  the  vulgar,  that  Custom  is  a  second  Na- 
ture. It  is  indeed  able  to  form  the  man  anew,  and  give 
him  inclinations  and  capacities  altogether  different  from 
those  he  was  born  with. 

2.  Dr.  Plot,  in  his  history  of  Staffordshire,  tells  of  an 
idiot,  that  chancing  to  live  within  the  sound  of  a  clock, 
and  always  amusing  himself  with  counting  the  hour  of 


108      The  Young  Gentleman  and  Ladifs  MONITOR, 

the  day  whenever  the  clock  struck  :  the  clock  being  spoil- 
ed by  some  accident,  the  idiot  continued  to  strike  and 
count  the  hour  without  the  help  of  it,  in  the  same  manner 
as  he  had  done  when  it  was  entire. 

3.  Though  I  dare  not  vouch  for  the  truth  of  this  story, 
it  is  very  certain  that  custom  has  a  mechanical  effect  up- 
on the  body  at  the  same  time  that  it  has  a  very  extraordi- 
nary influence  upon  the  mind. 

4.  I  shall  in  this  paper  consider  one  very  remarkable 
effect  which  custom  has  upon  human  nature  ;  and  which, 
if  rightly  observed,  may  lead  us  into  rery  useful  rules  of 
life.     What  I  shall  here  take  notice  of  in  custom,  is  its 
wonderful  efficacy  in  making  every  thing  pleasant  to  us. 

5.  A  person  who  is  addicted  to  play  or  gaming,  though 
he  took  but  little  delight  in  it  at  first,  by  degrees  contracts 
so  strong  an  inclination  towards  it,  and  gives  himself  up 
so  entirely  to  it,  that  it  seems  the  only  end  of  his  being. 
The  love  of  a  retired  or  busy  life  will  grow  upon  a  man 
insensibly,  as  he  is  conversant  in  the  one  or  the  other,  till 
he  is  utterly  unqualified  for  relishing  that  to  which  he  has 
been  for  some  time  disused. 

6.  Nay  a   man  may  smoke  or  drink,  or  take  snuff,  till 
he  is  unable  to  pass  away  his  time  without  it  ;  not  to 
mention  how  our  delight  in  any  particular  study,  art,  or 
science,   rises  and  improves  in  proportion  to  the  applica- 
tion which  we  bestow   upon  it.     Thus  "/what  was  at  first 
an  exercise  becomes  at   length  an  entertainment.     Our 
employments   are  changed  into  diversions.     The  mind 
grows  fond  of  those  actions  it  is  accustomed    to,  and  is 
drawn  with  reluctancy  from  those  paths  in  which  it  has 
been  used  to  walk. 

7.  Not  only  such  actions  as  were  at  first  indifferent  to 
us,  but  even  such  as  were  painful,  will  by  custom  and 
practice  become  pleasant. 

8.  Sir  Francis  Bacon  observes  in  his  natural  philoso- 
phy, that  our  taste  is  never  better  pleased  than  with  those 
things  which    at  first  create  a   disgust  in  it.     He  gives 
particular  instances  of  claret,  coffee,  and  other  liquors, 
which  the  palate  seldom  approves  upon  the  first  taste  ;  but 
when  it  has  once  got  a  relish  of  them,  generally  retains 
it  for  life.     The  mind  is  constituted  after  the  same  man- 
ner, and  after  having  habituated  itself  to  any  particular 


and  English  teacher's  ASSISTANT. 

exercise   or  employment,  not  only  loses  its  first  av 
towards  it,  but  conceives  a  certain  fondness  and  at|eccio;< 
for  it. 

9.  I  have  heard  one  of  the  greatest  geniuses  this  ac;t- 
has  produced,  who  had  been  trained  up  in  all  the  polite 
studies  of  antiquity,  assure  me  upon  his  being  obliged  to 
search  into  several  rolls  and  records,  that  notwithstand- 
ing such  an  employment  was  at  first  very  dry  and  irksome 
to  him,  he  at  last  took  an  incredible  pleasure   in  it,  and 
preferred  it  even  to  the  reading  of  Virgil  or  Cicero. 

10.  The  reader  will  observe,  that  I  have  not  here  con- 
sidered custom   as  it  makes  things  easy,  but  as  it  renders 
them  delightful ;  and  though  others  have  often  made  the 
same   reflection,  it  is  possible  they  may  not  have  drawn 
those  uses  from  it,  with  which  I  intend  to  fill  the  remaining 
part  of  this  paper. 

11.  If  we  consider  attentively. this  property  of  human 
nature,  it  may  instruct  us  in  very  fine  moralities.     In  the 
first  place,  I  would  have  no  man  discouraged  with  -that 
kind  of  life  or  series  of  actions,  in  which  the   choice  of 
others  or  his  own  necessities  may  have  engaged  him.     It 
may  perhaps  be  very  disagreeable  to  him  at  first ;  but  use 
and  application  will  certainly  render  it  not  only  less  pain- 
ful, but  pleasing  and  satisfactory. 

12.  In  the  second  place,  I  would  recommend  to  every- 
one the  admirable   precept  which  Pythagoras   is  s; 
have  given  to  his  disciples,  and  which   that  philosopher 
must  have  drawn  from  the  observation  I  have  en'. 
upon  :    Qfitimum  ~uiie  genus  eligito,   nam  cGntuetud® 
jucundissinmm,  pitch  upon  that  course  oflife- which  \ 

raost  excellent,  and  custom  will  render  it   the  most  de- 
lightful. 

13.  Men,  whose  circumstances    will  permit  them  to 
chuse  their  own  way  of  life,   are  inexcusable  if  thty  do 
not  pursue  that  which  their  judgment  tells  them  is  the 
most  laudable.     The  voice  of  reason   is  more   to  be  re- 
garded than  the  bent  of  any  present  inclination,  since  by 
the  rule  above  mentioned,  inclin  ition  will  at  length  come 
over  to  reason,  though  we  can  n^ver  force  reason  to  com- 
ply with  inclination. 

14.  In  the  third  place,  this  observation  may  teach  the 
™?s!  -ions  man  to  overlook  those  hard- 


,HO     The    Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

ships  and  difficulties,  which  are  apt  to  discourage  him 
from  the  prosecution  of  a  virtuous  life.  The  Gods,  said 
Hesiod,  have  placed  labor  before  virtue;  the  way  to  her 
is  at  first  rough  and  difficult,  but  grows  more  smooth  and 
easy  the  farther  you  advance  in  it.  The  man  who  pro- 
ceeds in  it,  with  steadiness  and  resolution,  will  in  a  little 
time  find  that  her  ways  are  ways  of  pleasantness,  and  that 
all  her  paths  are  peace. 

35.  To  enforce  this,  consideration,  we  may  further 
observe,  that  the  practice  of  religion  will  not  only  be  at- 
tended with  that  pleasure  which  naturally  accompanies 
those  actions  to  which  we  are  habituated  but  with  ttyase 
supernumerary  joys  of  heart,  that  rise  from  the  conscious- 
ness .of  such  a  pleasure,  from  the  satisfaction  of  acting  up 
to  the  dictates  of  reason,  and  from  the  prospect  of  an  hap- 
py immortality.. 

15.  In  the  fourth  place,  we  may  learn  from  this  ob- 
servation which  we  have  made  on  the  mind  of  man,  to 
take  particular  care*  when  we  are  once  settled  in  a  reg- 
\i]  ir  course  of  life,  how  we  too  frequently  indulge  our- 
selves in  any  of  the  most  innocent  diversions  and  enter- 
tainments, since  the  mind  may  insensibly  fall  off  from  the 
relish  cf  virtuous  actions,  and  by  degrees,  exchange  that 
pleasure  which  it  takes  in  the  performance  of  it's  duty, 
.lights  of  a  much  more  inferior  and  unprofitable 
nature. 

17.  The  last  use  which  I  shall  make  of  this  remarka- 
ble  property  inhuman   nature, .  of  being  delighted  with 
those  actions  to  which  it  is  accustomed,  is  to  show   how 
absolutely  necessary  it  is  for  us  to  gain  habits  of  virtue  m 
t//is  life,  if  we  would  enjoy  the  pleasures  of  the  next. 

18.  The  state  of -bliss  we  call  heaven,  will  not  be  capa- 
ble of  affecting  those  minds,  which  are  not  thus  qualified 
lor  it  ;  we  roust  in  this  world  gain  a  relish  of  truth  and 
virtue,  if  we  would  be  able  to  taste  that  knowledge,  and 
perfection  which  are  to  make  us  happy  in  the  next.     The 
seeds  of  those   spiritual   joys   and    raptures,    which   are 
to  rise  up  and  flourish  in  the  soul  to  all  eternity,  must  be 
planted  in  it,  during  this  its  present  state  of  probation.— 
In  short,  heaven  is  not  to  be  looked  upon  only  as  the  re- 
ward, but  os  the  natural  effect  of  a  religious  lite. 

19*  On  '.he  other  hand,  thos-  evil  spirits,  who  by  long 


&nd  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  1 1  i 

custom,  have  contracted  in  the  body,  habits  oflust,  sen- 
suality,  malice  and  revenge,  and  aversion  to  every  thing 
that  is  good,  just,  or  laudable,  are  naturally  seasoned  and 
prepared  for  pain  and  misery.  Their  torments  have  al- 
ready taken  root  in  them  ;  they  cannot  be  happy  \>*hen 
divested  of  the  body,  unless  we  may  suppose,  that  Provi- 
dence will  in  a  manner  create  them  anew,  and  work  u 
miracle  in  the  rectification  of  their  faculties. 

20.  They  may,  indeed,  taste  a  kind  of  malignant  plea- 
sure in  those  actions  to  which  they  are  accustomed  whilst 
in  this  life  ;  but  when  they   are  removed  from  all  those 
objects  which  are  here  apt  to  gratify  them,  they  will  natur- 
ally become  their  own  tormentors*  and  cherish  in  them- 
selves those  pafnful  habits  of  mind  which  are   called  in 
scripture  phrase,  the  worm  which  never  dies* 

21.  This,  notion  of  heaven  and  hell  is  so  very  cor  form- 
able  t©  the  light  of  nature,  that  it  was  discovered  by  sev- 
eral of  the  most  exalted  heathens.     It  has  been  finely  im- 
proved by  many  eminent  divines  of  the  last  age,  as  in  par- 
ticular by   Archbishop  Tillotson  and   Dr.  Sherlock  ;  but 
there  is  none  who  has  raised  such  noble  speculations  upon 
it  as  Dr.  Scott,   in  the  first  book  of  his  Christian  Life, 
which  is  one  of  the  finest  and  most  rational  schemes  of 
divinity,  that  is  written  in  our  tongue,  or  any  other.    That; 
excellent  author  has  shown  how  every  particular  custom 
and  habit  of  virtue  will,  in  its  own  nature,  produce  the 
heaven,  or  a  state   of  happiness  in  him  who  shall  hereafter 
practise  it  :  as  on   the  contrary,   how  every   custom   or 
habit  of  vice  will  be  the  natural  hell  of  him  in  whom  it 
subsists. 

On  Cleanliness. 

SPECTATOR,  No.  63 U 

I.  T  HAD  occasion  to  go  a  few  miles  out  of  town,  some 
JL  days  since,  in  a  stage  coach,  where  I  had  for  my 
fellow  travellers,  a  dirty  beau,  and  a  pretty  young  Qua- 
ker woman.  Having  no  inclination  to  talk  much  at  that 
time,  I  placed  myself  backward,  with  a  design  to  survey 
thtm,  and  pick  a  speculation  out  of  my  two  companions* 


1-112     The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

Their  different  figures  were  sufficient  of  themselves  to 
draw  my  attention. 

2.  The   gentleman  was   dressed   in  suit,  the   ground 
whereof  had  been  Wack,  as  I  perceived   from  some  few 
spaces  that  had  escaped  the  powder,  which  was  incorpo- 
rated with  the   greatest  part  of  his  coat  ;  his  periwig, 
which  cost  no  small  sum,  was  after  so  slovenly  a  manner 
cast  over  his  shoulders,  that  it  seemed  not  to  have  been 

'combed  since  the  year  1712;  his  linen,  which  was, not 
much  concealed,  was  daubed  with  plain  Spanish  from  the 
chin  to  the  lowest  button,  and  the  diamond  upon  his  fin- 
ger, (which  naturally  dreaded  the  water)  put  me  in  mind 
how  it  sparkled  amidst  the  rubbish  of  the  mine  where  it 
was  first  discovered. 

3.  On  the  other  hand,  the  pretty  Quaker  appeared  in. 
all  the  elegance  of  cleanliness.     Not   a  speck  was  to  be 
found  on  her.     A  clear,  clean,  oval  face,  just  edged  about 

'with  little  thin  plaits  of  the  purest  cambrick,  received  great 
advantages  from  the  shade  of  her  black  hood  ;  as  did  the 
whiteness  of  her  arms  from  that  sober-colored  stuff  in 
which  she  had  clothed  herself.  The  plainness  of  her 
dress  was  well  suited  to  the  simplicity  of  her  phrases,  all 
which  put  together,  though  they  could  not  give  me  a 
great  opinion  of  her  religion,  they  did  of  her  innocence. 

4.  This  adventure  occasioned  my  throwing   together 
a  few  hints  upon  cleanliness,  which  I  shall  consider  as  one 
of  the  half  virtues,  as  Aristotle  calls  them,  and  shall  re- 
commend it  under  the  three  following  heads:  As  it  is  a 
mark  of  politeness  ;  as  it  produceth  love  ;  and  as  it  bears 
analogy  to  purity  of  mind. 

5.  First,  it  is  a  mark  of  politeness.     It  is  universally 
agreed  upon,  that  no  one,   unadorned  with  this  virtue, 
can  go  into  company  without  giving  a  manifest  offence. 
The  easier  or  higher  any  one's  fortune  is$   this  duty- rises 
proportionally.     The  different  nations  of  the  world  are 
as  much   distinguished  by  their  cleanliness.,  as  by    their 
arts  and  sciences.     The  more  any  country  is  civilized, 
the  more  they  consult  this  part  of  .politeness.     We  need 
but  compare  our  ideas  of  a  female  Hottentot  with  an  Eng- 
lish beauty,  to  be  satisfied  of  the  truth  of  what  hath- been 
advanced. 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT. 

5.  In  the  next  place,  cleanliness  may  be  said  to  be  the 
foster-mother  of  love.  Beauty,  indeed,  most  commonly 
produces  that  passion  in  the  mind,  but  cleanliness  pre- 
serves it.  An  indifferent  face  and  person,  kept  in  perpet- 
ual neatness,  hath  won  many  a  heart  from  a  pretty  slat- 
tern. Age  itself  is  not  unamiable,  while  it  is  preserved 
clean  and  unsullied  :  like  a  piece  of  mettle  constantly  kept 
smooth  and  bright,  we  look  on  it  with  more  pleasure  than 
on  a  new  vessel  that  is  cankered  with  rust. 

7.  I  might  observe  further,  that  as  cleanliness  renders 
us  agreeable  to  others,  so  it  makes  it  easy  to  ourselves  ; 
that  it  is  an  excellent  preservative  of  health  ;   and   that 
several  vices,  destructive   both  to  mind  and  body,  are  in- 
consistent  with  the    habit  of  it.     But  these  reflections  I 
shall  leave  to  the  leisure  of  my  readers,  and  shall  observe 
in  the  third  place,  that  it  bears  a  great  analogy  with  puri- 
ty of  mind,  and  naturally  inspires  refined  sentiments  and 
passions. 

8.  We  find,   from  experience,  that  through  the  preva- 
lence of  custom,  the  most  vicious  actions  lose  their  horror, 
by   being-  made  familiar  to  us.     On  the  contrary,   those 
who  live  in  the  neighborhood  of  good  examples,  fly  from 
the  first  appearance  of  what  is  shocking-.    It  fares  with  us 
much  after  the  same  manner    as  our  ideas.  Our   senses, 
which  are  the  inlets  to  all  the  images  conveyed  to  the 
mind,  can   only  transmit  the  impression  of  such  tilings 
as  usually  surround  them  ;   so  that  pure   and  unsullied 
thoughts  are  naturally  suggested  to  the  mind,  by  those 
objects  that  perpetually    encompass  us,  when  they  are 
beautiful  and  elegant  in  their  kind. 

9.  In  the  East,  where  the  warmth  of  the  climate  makes 
cleanliness  more  immediately   necessary  than  in  colder 
countries,  it  is  made  one  part  of  their  religion  ;  the  Jewish 
law  (and  the  Mahometan,  which  in  some  things,  copies 
after  it)    is  filled  with  buthir,gs,   purifications,  and  other 
rites  of  the  like  nature.     Though  there  is  the  above  nam- 
ed convenient  reason  to  be  assigned  for  these  ceremonies* 
the  chief  intention,  undoubtedly,  was  to  typify  inward  pu- 
rity and  cleanliness  of  heart  by  those  outward  washings. 

10.  We  read   several   injunctions  of  this   kind   in  the 
book  of  Deuteronomy,  which   confirm    this   truth,   and 
which  are  but  ill  accounted  for  by  saying,  as  some  do,  that 

K  2 


1 14      The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

they  were  only  instituted  for  convenience  in  the  desert, 
which  otherways  could  not  have  been  habitable  for  so 
many  years. 

1 1 .  I  shall  conclude  this  essay  with  a  story  which  I 
have  somewhere  read  in  an  account  of  Mahometan  super- 
stition. A  Dervise  of  great  sanctity  one  morning  had  the 
misfortune,  as  he  took  up  a  crystal  cup,  whkflf%as  conse- 
crated to  the  prophet,  to  let  it  fall  upon  the  ground,  and 
dash  it  in  pieces.  His  son  coming  in  some  time  after,  he 
stretched  out  his  hand  to  bless  $im,  as  his  manner  was 
every  morning  ;  but  the  youth  going  out  stumbled  over 
the  threshold  and  broke  his  arm.  As  the  old  man  wonder- 
ed at  these  events,  a  caravan  passed  by  in  its  way  from 
Mecca.  The  Dervise  approached  it  to  beg  a  blessing  ;. 
but  as  he  stroked  one  of  the  holy  camels,  he  received  a 
kick  from  the  beast  that  sorely  bruised  him.  His  sor- 
row and  amazement  increased  upon  him,  till  he  recollect- 
ed, that,  through  hurry  and  inadvertency,  he  had  that, 
morning  come  abroad  without  washing  his  hands. 


The  Advantages  of  a  good  Education. 

CONSIDER  a  human  soul  without  education  like 
marble  in  the  quarry,  which  shows  none  of  its  inhe- 
rent beauties,  until  the  skill  of  the  polisher  fetches  out  the 
colors,  makes  the  surface  shine,  and  discovers  every  or- 
namental cloud,  spot  and  vein,  that  runs  through  the  body 
cfit.  Education,  after  the  same  manner,  when  it  works 
upon  a  noble  mind,  draws  out  to  view  every  latent  virtue 
and  perfection,  which,  without  such  helps,  are  never  able 
to  make  their  appearance. 

2.  If  my  reader  will  give  me  jeave  to  change  the  allu- 
sion so  soon  upon  him,  I  shall  make  use  of  the  •same  in- 
stance to  illustrate  the  force  of  education,  which  Aristotle- 
has  brought  to  explain  his  doctrine  of  substantial  forms, 
•when  he  tells  us  that  a  statue  lies  hid  in  a  block  of  mar- 
ble ;  and  that  the  art  of  the  statuary  only  clears  away 
the  superfluous  mattery  and  removes  the  rubbish.  The 
figure  is  in  the  stone,  the  sculptor  only  finds  it.  What 
sculpture  is  to  a  block  of  m;u>ble?  education  is  to  a  hu- 
soul. 


,  at i d  English  Tea cker's  ASSISTANT.  115 

3.  The  philosopher,  the  saint,  or  the  hero,  the  wise,  the 
good,  or  the  great  man,  very  often  lie  hid  and  concealed 
in  a  plebean,    which   a  proper  education  might  have  dis- 
interred, and  have  brought  to  light.  I  am  therefore  much 
delighted  with  reading  the  accounts  of  savage  nations,  and 
with  contemplating   those  virtues  which  are  wild  and  un- 
cultivated ;  to    see  courage   exerting  itself  in  fierceness, 
resolution  in  obstinacy,  wisdora  in  cunning,   patience  in 
sullenness  and  despair. 

4.  Men's  passions  operate  variously,  and  appear  in  dif- 
ferent kinds  of  actions,  according  as  they  are  more  or  less 
rectified  and  swayed  by  reason.     When  one  hears  of  ne- 
groes, who  upon  the  death  of  their  masters,   or  upon 
changing  their  service,,  hang  themselves  upon  the  next 
tree,  as  it  frequently  happens  in  our  American  plantations, 
who  can  forbear  admiring  their  fidelity,  though  it  express- 
es itself  in  so  dreadful  a  manner  ? 

5.  What  might  not  that  savage  greatness  of  soul  which 
appears   in  these  poor  wretches  on  many  occasions,  be 
raised  to,  were  it  rightly  cultivated  ?  and  what  color  of 
excuse  can  there  be  for  the  contempt  with  which  we  treat 
this  part  of  our  species  ?  that  we  should  not  put  them  up- 
on the  common  foot  of  humanity  ;  that  we  should  only  set 
an  insignificant  fine  upon  the  man  who  murders  them  ; 
nay,  that  we  should,  as  much  in  us  lies,  cut  them  off  from 
the  prospects  of  happiness  in  another  world,  as  well  as  in 
this,  and  deny  them  that  which  we  look  upon  as  the  prop- 
er means  for  attaining  it. 

6.  It  is  therefore  an  unspeakable  blessing  to  be  born  in 
those  parts  of  the  world  where  wisdom  and  knowledge, 
flourish  ;  though  it  must  be  confessed  there  are,  even  in 
these  parts,  several  poor  uninstructed  persons,  who  are  but. 
little  above   the  inhabitants  of  those  nations  of  which  I 
have  been  here  speaking  :  as  those  who  have  had  the  ad- 
vantages of  a  more  liberal  education,  rise  above  ope  an- 
other by  several  different  degrees  of  perfection. 

7.  For  to  return  to  our  statue  in  the  block  of  marble, 
•we  see  it  sometimes  only  begun  to  be  chipped,  sometimes 
rougn  hewn,  and  but  just  sketched  into  an  human  figure  ;, 
sometimes  we  see  the  man  appearing  distinctly  in  all  his 
limbs  and  features,  sometimes  we  find  the  figure  wrought 
up  to  a  great  elegancy-;  but  seldom  xnee.t  with,  any 


1 16      The  Your.g  Gentleman  and  Ladifs  MONITOR^ 

the  hand  of  Phidias  or  Praxiteles  could  not  give  several 
nice  touches  and  finishings,. 


The  Disadvantages  of  a  bad  Education-. 

SIR, 

1.  T  WAS  condemned  by  some  disastrous  influence  tc 
JL  be  an  only  son,  born  to  the  apparent  prospect  of  a 
large  fortune,  and  allotted  to  my  parents  at  that  time  ot 
life  when  satiety  of  common  diversions  allows  the  mind 
to  indulge  parental  affection  with  greater  intensenesi 
My  birth  was  celebrated  by  the  tenants  with  feasts,  an> 
dances,  and  bag-pipes  ;  congratulations  were  sent  from 
every  family  within  ten  miles  round  ;  and  my  parents 
discovered  in  my  first  cries  such  tokens  of  future  virtue 
and  understanding,  that  they  declared  themselves  deter- 
mined to  devote  the  remaining  part  of  life  to  my  happi- 
ness and  the  increase  of  their  estate. 

2.  The  abilities  of  my  father  ami  mother  were  not  per- 
ceptibly unequal,   and  education  had  given  neither  much 
advantage   over  the  other.     They  had   both   kept   good 
company,  rattled  in  chariots,  glittered  in,  play-houses,  and 
danced  at  court,  and  were  both  expert  in  the  games  that 
were  in  their  times  called  in  as  auxiliaries  against  the  i 
trusion  of  thought. 

3.  When  there  is  such  a  parity  between  two  person 
associated  for  life,  the  dejection  which  the  husband,  if  he" 
be  not  completely  stupid,  must  always  suffer  for  want  of 
superiority,   sinks  him  to  sub  missive  ness.     My  mamm& 
therefore  governed   the  family  without  control  ;  and  ex- 
cept that  my   father  still  retained  some  authority  in  the 
stables,   and  now  and  then   after  a  supernumerary  bottle, 
broke  a  looking  glass  or  china  dish  to  prove  his  sovereign- 
ty, the  whole  course  of  the  year  was  regulated  by  her  di- 
rection, the  servants  received    from  her  all  their  orders 
and  the  tenants  were  continued  or  dismissed  at  her  dis- 
cretion. 

4.  She  therefore  thought  herself  entitled  to  the  super- 
intendance  of  her  son's  education  ;  and  when  my  father, 
at  the  instigation  of  the  parson,  faintly   proposed  that  I 


LlU 

t 

».-,! 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  117 

) should  be  sent  to  school,  very  positively  told  him,  that 
she  would'  not  suffer  so  fine  a  child  to  be  ruined  ;  that 
she  never  knew  any  boys  at  a  grammar-school  that  could 
come  into  a  room  without  blushing,  or  sit  at  the  table 
'v/ithout  some  aukward  uneasiness  ;  that  they  were  always 
putting  themselves  into  danger  by  boisterous  plays,  or 
vitiating  their  behavior  with  mean  company  ;  and  that 
for  her  part  she  would  rather  follow  me  to  the  grave 
than  see  me  tear  my  clothes,  and  hang  down  my  head, 
and  sneak  about  with  dirty  shoes,  and  blotted  fingers,  my 
hair  unpov/dered,  and  my  hat  uncocked. 

5.  My  father,  who  had  no  other  end  in  his  proposal  than 
to  appear  wise  and  manly,    soon  acquiesced,  since  I  was 
not  to  live  by  my  learning  ;  for   indeed  he  had  known 
very  few  students  that  had  not  some  stiffness  in  their  man- 
ner.    They  therefore  agreed  that  a  domestic  tutor  should 
be  procured,  and  hired  an  honest  gentleman  of  mean  con- 
versation and  narrow  sentiments,   but  who  having  passed 
the  common  forms  of  literary  eclucati^pi,   they  implicitly 
concluded   qualified   to  teach  all  that  was  to  be  learned 
from  a  scholar.     He  thought  himself  sufficiently  exalted 
by  being  placed  at  the   same  table  with  his  pupil,    and 
had  no  other  view  than   to  perpetuate   his  felicity  by  the 
utmost  flexibility  of  submission  to  all  my  mother's  opin- 
ions and  caprices.     He   frequently  took  away  my  book, 
least  I  should  mope  with  too  much  application,  charged 
roe  never  to  write  without  turning   up  my  ruffles,  and 
generally  brushed  my  coat  before   be  dismissed  me  into 
the  parlor. 

6.  lie  had  no  occasion  to  complain  of  too  burthen  some 
an  employment  ;  for  my  mother  very  judiciously  consider- 
ed that  I  was  not  likely  to  grow  politer  in  his  company, 
and  suffered  me  not  to  pass  any  more  time  in  his  apartr 
•ment  than  my  lesson  required.     When  I  was  summoned 
to  my  task,   she  enjoined  me  not  to  get  any  of  my  tutor's 
ways  who  was  seldom  mentioned  before  me  but  for  prac- 
tices to  be   avoided.     I  was  every  moment  admonished 
not  to  lean   on  my  chair,  cross  my  legs,   or   swjng  my 
hands  like  my  tutor  ;   and  once  my  mother  very  seriously 
deliberated   upon   his   total  dismission,    because  I  began, 
she  said,  to  learn  his  manner  of  sticking  on  my  hat,  and 
had  his  bund  in  my  shoulders,  and  his  tetter  in  my  gait* 


118       The  Yoim*  Qcntlemari and  Ladifs  MONITOR, 

7.  Such,  however,  was  her  care,  that  I  escaped  all  these 
depravities  ;  and  when  I  was  only  twelve  years  old,  had 
rid  myself  of  every    appearance  of  childish    diffidence. 
I  was   celebrated  round  the  country  for  the  petulance  of 
hiy  remarks,  and  the  quickness  af  my  replies  ;  and  many 
a  scholar  five  years  older  than  myself  have  I  dashed  into 
confusion  by   the  steadiness  of  my  countenance,  silenced 
by  my  readiness  of  repartee,   and  tortured  with  envy  by 
the  address  with  which   I  picked  up  a  fan,  presented  a 
snuff-box,  or  received  an  empty  tea- cup. 

8.  At  fourteen  I  was  completely  skilled  in  all  the  niceties 
of  dress,  and  I-could  not  only  enumerate  all  the   variety 
of  silks,  and  distinguish  the  product  cf  a  French  loom, 
but  dart  my  eye  through  a  numerous  company,  and  ob- 
serve every    deviation  from   the    reigning  mode.     I  was 
universally  skilful  in  all  the  changes  of  expensive  finery  ; 
but  as  every  one  they  say,  has  something  to  which  he  is 
particularly  born,  was  eminently  known  in  Brussels  lace. 

9.  The  next  yajU*  saw  me  advanced  to  the  trust  and  power 
of  adjusting  the  ceremonial  of  an  assembly.     All  received 
their  partners  from  my   hand,  and  to  me   every  stranger 
applied  for  introduction.     My  heart  now  disdained  the 
instructions  of  a  tutor,  who  was  rewarded  with  a  small 
annuity  for  life,  and  left  me  qualified,  in  my  own  opinion, 
to  govern  myself. 

10.  In  a  short  time  I  carne  to  London,  and  as  my  fa- 
ther was  well  known  among  the  higher  classes  of  life,  soon 
obtained  admission  to  the  most  splendid  assemblies,  and 
most  crowded  card-tables.     Here  I  found   myself  univer- 
sally caressed  and  applauded,  the  ladies  praised  the  fancy 
of  my  clothes,  the  beauty  of  my  form,  and  the  softness 
of  my  voice  ;   endeavored   in  every  place  to  force  them- 
selves to  my  notice  ;  and  invited,   by  a  thousand  oblique 
solicitations,  my  attendance  to  the  play-house,  and  my 
salutations  in  the  Park.     I  was  now  happy  to  the  utmost 
extent  of.  my  conceptions :  I  passed  every  morning  in 
dress,  every  afternoon  in  visits,  and  every  night  in  some 
select  assemblies,  where  neither  care  nor  knowledge  were 
suffered  to  molest  us. 

11.  After  a  few  years,  however;  these  delights  became 
familiar,  and   I  had   leisure  to  look  round   me  with  more 
attention.     I  then  found  that  my  flatterers  had  very  little 


. .    and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT*  119 

i  power  to  relieve  the  languor  of  satiety,  or  recreate  Avea- 
I  riness,  by  varied  amusement  ;  and  therefore  endeavored 
to  enlarge  the  sphere  of  my  pleasures,  and  to  try  what 
!  satisfaction  might  be  found  .in  the  society  of  men.  I  will 
mot  deny  the  mortification  with  which  I  perceived  that 
every  man  whose  name  I  had  heard  mentioned  with  res- 
pect, received  me  with  a  kind  of  tenderness  nearly  bor- 
dering on  compassion  ;  and  that  those  whose  reputation 
was  not  well  established,  thought  it  necessary  to  justify 
their  understandings,  by  treating  me  with  contempt.  One 
of  these  witlings  elevated  his  crest,  by  asking  me  in  a  full 
coffee-house  the  price  of  patches  ;  and  another  whisper^ 
ed,  that  he  wondered  Miss  Frisk  did  not  keep  me  that 
afternoon  to  watch  her  squirrel. 

12.  When  I  found  myself  thus  hunted  from  all  mascu- 
jine  conversation  by  those  who  were  themselves  barely  ad- 
mitted, I  returned  to  tht  ladies,  and  resolved  to  dedicate] 
my  life  to   their  service  and  their  pleasure.     But  1  find 
that  1  have  now  lost  my  charms.     Of  those  with  whom  I 
entered  the  gay  world,  some  are  marriedflorne  have  retire 
ed,  and  some  have  so  much  changed  their  opion,  that  they 
scarcely  pay  any  regard   to  my  civilities,  if  there  is  any 
other  man  in  the,  place.     The  new  flight  of  beauties, 
to  whom  I   have  made  my   addresses,  suffer  me  to  pay 
the  treat,  and  then  titter  with  boys  :  So  that  I  now  find  my^ 
self  welcome  only  to  a  few  grave  ladies,  who,  unacquaint- 
ed with  all  that  si'ives  either  use  or  dignity  to   life,  are 
content  to   pass  their    hours   between  their  bed  and  their 
cards,  without  esteem  from  the  old,  or  reverence  from 
the  young. 

13.  I  cannot  but  think,  Mr.  Rambler,  that  I  have  rea- 
son to  complain  ;  for  surely  the  females  ought  to  pay  some 
regard  to  the  age  of  him  whose  youth  was  passed  in  en- 
deavors  to  please  them.     They  that  encourage   folly  in 
the  boy,  have  no  right  to  punish  it  in  the  man..     Yet  I 
find,    that  though  they  lavish   their  first  fondness    upon 
pertness   and  gaiety,    they  soon  transfer  their  regard  to 
other  qualities,  and  ungratefully  abandon  their  adorers  to 
dream  out  their  last  years  in  stupidity  and  contempt. 

I  am>  &c.  Florentuius. 

RAMBLER*,  • 


!.  T 

J.  &  proper  ingredient  in  the  education  of  a 
of  qusJrty  or  {brtune.     Since  they  bare  the  sune  improv- 
able minds  as  the  nnle  pail  of  the  species,  why  sbooid 
they  not  be  cultivated  bjr  the  same  method  :  why  * 
reason  be  left  to  itself  in  ooeof  the  &exes»  and  be  discipHo- 
ed  with  so  much  care  to  the  oilier  ? 

2.  There  are  some  reasons  vbj  Irami^g  seems 
adapted  to  the  icoaaie  world  than  to  the  mak. 
5rst  piacc, because  thej  haTe  more  sp&re  time  cpoa  their 
haad&  and  lead   a  more  sedeni^ 

naeiitsareof  a  domestic  aatcre^  5ii>d  not  like  those  of  the 
cii.tr  sex,  vhich  nt  cficn  i—cc*^:»icr.!  «iih  itufv  ^r?j 
c  c  r.tttr.  T^Iiii  en. 

The  excellent  ladr,  the  laCT  Lizard,  in  the  sp^ce  of 

OHkhed^L  gaQ&rj  with  chairs  aizd  couches 

of  her  own  and  her  daughters*  working  ;  and  at  the  &&ZBC 

time  heard  aB  Dr.  TOIotsQifs  strmoas  twice  over.     It  is 

ahrars  the  custom   for 

irhers  i'  liat  the  kzrBmg  of  the 

pleased  the  c&er  day  to  £nd  them  sll 

bcsy  ID  p"ii-:.>^  £r  zr^I  ir^is  ^f  ihe  sc^sco,  T-^II.  ihe 
Spmrkkr  in  t*  : :  them.  : 

ibeir  spe : 
and  making    soddea  mBfiUoa  Erpv  :..-   5  ,r,  as  cji  apr.- 

co^  or  iVi-z:  the  CcocrLiiIusJi  Ejii-z^  ::  i-it  fg-orte  of  a 
cceese  c^ke. 

-=TJIE£S    S£13L 

selves  to  cs; 

bave  that  m : 

leHenta  ' 
IB,  or  pkirty  ef  v 
it  to  some  us 

-whr  sboiL^i  i:  r-ct  bt  set  to  go  r.rbt :  c?^!i  ihej  d^sc 
aboist  the  sp&is  in  tht  rert  theH 

the  f.: 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  121 

talk  of  the  different  aspects  and  conjunctions  of  the  plan- 
ets, they  need  not  be  at  the  pains  to  comment  upon  og- 
lings  and  clandestine  marriages.  In  short,  were  they 
furnished  with  matters  of  fact,  out  of  arts  and  sciences, 
it  would  now  and  then  be  of  great  ease  to  their  invention. 

6.  There  is  another  reason  why  those,  especially  who 
are  women  of  quality,  should  apply  themselves  to  letters, 
namely,  because  their  husbands  are  generally  strangers  to 
them.     It  is  great  pity  there  should  be  no  knowledge  in 
a  family.     For  my  own  part,  I  am   concerned  when   I 
go  into  a  great  house,  where  perhaps  there  is  not  a  single 
person  that  can  spell,  unless  it  be  by  chance  the  butler,  or 
one  of  the  footmen.     What  a  figure  is  the  young  heir 
likely  to  make,  who  is  a  dunce  both  by  father  and  mo- 
ther's side  ? 

7.  If  we  look  into  the  histories  of  famous  women,  we 
find  many  eminent  philosophers  of  this  sex.     Nay,  we 
find  that  several  females  have  distinguished  themselves  in 
Those  sects  of  philosophy  which  seem  almost  repugnant  to 
their  natures.     There  have  been  famoifs  female  Pythago- 
reans, notwithstanding  most  of  that  philosophy  consisted 
in  keeping  a  secret,  and  that  the  disciple  was  to  hold  her 
tongue  five  years  together. 

8.  Learning  and  knowledge  are  perfections  in  us,  not 
as  we  are  men,  but  as  we  are  reasonable  creatures,  in 
which  order  of  beings  the  female  world  is  upon  the  same 
level  with  the  male.     We  ougH  to  consider  in  this  parti- 
cular, not  what  is  the  sex,  but  what  is  the  species  to  which 
they  belong.     At  least,   I  believe  every  one   will  allow 
me,  that  a  female  philosopher  is  not  so  absurd  a  character 
and  so  opposite  to  the  sex,  as  a  female  gamester  ;  and 
that  it  is  more  irrational  for  a  woman  to  pass  away  half  a 
dozen  hours  at  cards  or  dice,  than  in  getting  up  stores  of 
useful  learning. 

9.  This  therefore  is   another  reason   why  I  would  re- 
commend the   studies  of  knowledge  to  the  female  world, 
that  they  may  not  be  at  a  loss  how  to  employ  those  hours 
that  lie  upon  their  hands. 

10.  I  might    also  add  this  motive  to  my  fair  readers, 
that  several  of  their  sex,  who  have  improved  their  minds 
by  books  and  literature,   have  raised  themselves   to  the 
highest  posts  of  honor    and   fortune*      A    neighboring 


123     The  Young  Gcntkman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

nation  may  at  this  time  furnish  us  with  a  very  remarkable 
instance  of  this  kind  ;  but  I  shall  conclude  this  head  with 
the  history  of  Athenais,  which  is  a  very  signal  example 
to  my  present  purpose. 

11.  The  emperor  Theodomis  being  about  the  age  of 
one    and  twenty,   and   designing  to  take  a  wife,    desired 
his  sister  Puicheria  and  his  friend  Paulinus  to  search  his 
whole  empire  fora  woman  of  the  most  exquisite  beauty, 
and  highest  accomplishments.  In  the  midst  of  this  search, 
Athenais,  a  Grecian  virgin,   accidentally  offered   herself. 
Her  father,  who  was  an  eminent  philosopher  of  Athens, 
and  had   bred  her  up  in  all  the  learning  of  that  place,  at 
his  death  left  her  but  a  very  small  portion,  in   which  also 
she  suffered  great  hardships  from  the  injustice  of  her  two 
brothers. 

12.  This  forced  her  upon  a  journey  to  Constantinople, 
where  she  had  a  relation  who  represented  her  case  to 
Puicheria,  in  order  to  obtain  some  redress  from  the  empe- 
ror.    By  this    means  that   religious  princess   became  ac- 
quainted with  Athenais,  whom  she  found  the  most  beau- 
tiful woman  of  her  age,  and  educated  under  a  long  course 
of  philosophy  in  the  strictest  virtue  and  the  most  unspot- 
ted innocence. 

13.  Puicheria  was  charmed  witliher  conversation,  and 
immediately  made  her  report  to  the  emperor  her  brother 
Theoclosius.     The  character  she  gave  made  such  an  im- 
pression on  him,  that  he  desired  his  sister  to  bring  her 
away  immediately  to  the  lodgings  of  his  friend  Paulinus, 
where  he  found  her  beauty  and  her  conversation  beyond 
the  highest  idea  he  had  framed  of  them. 

14-  His  friend  Paulinus  converted  her  to  Christianity, 
and  gave  her  the  name  of  Eudosia  :  after  which  the  env 
peror  publicly  espoused  her,  and  enjoyed  all  the  happiness 
in  his  marriage  which  he  promised  himself  from  such  a 
virtuous  and  learned  bride.  She  not  only  forgave  the 
Injuries  which  her  two  brothers  had  done  her,  but  raised 
them  to  great  honors  ;  and  by  several  works  of  learning, 
as  well  as  by  an  exemplary  life,  made  herself  so  dear  to 
the  whole  empire,  that  she  had  many  statues  erected  to 
1  r  r  memory,  and  is  celebrated  by  the  fathers  of  the  church 
as  an  ornament  of  her  sex. 


end  English  Teachers  ASSISTANT.  123 

On  the  Absurdity  of  Qmem. 

SPECTATOR,  NO. 

yesterday  to  dine  \vith  an  old  acquaint- 
ance,  I  had  the  misfortune,  to  find  the  whole 
family  very  much  dejected.  Upon  asking  him  the  occa- 
sion of  it,  he  told  me  that  his  wife  had  dreamt  a  very 
strange  dream  the  night  before,  which  they  were  afraid 
portended  some  misfortune  to  themselves  or  to  their  chil- 
dren. At  her  coming  into  the  room,  I  observed  a  settled 
melancholy  in  her  countenance,  which  I  should  have 
been  troubled  for,  had  I  not  heard  from  whence  it  pro- 
ceeded. 

2.  We  were  no   sooner   sat  down,  but,  after   having 
looked  upon  me  a  little  while,  <  My  dear,'  says  she,   turn- 
ing to  her  husband,  '  you  may  now  see  the  stranger  that 
•was  in  the  candle  last  night.'     Soon   after  this,  as  they 
began  to  talk  of  family  affairs,  a  little  boy   at  the  lower 
end  of  the  table  told  her,   that  he  was  to  go  into  joining- 
hand  on    Thursday  :  '  Thursday  !'  says   she,  *  no  child, 
n  it  please  God,  you  shall  not  begin   upon  Childermas 
day  :  tell  your  writing  master  that  Friday  will  be   soon 
enough.' 

3.  I  was  reflecting  with  myself  on  the  oddness  of  her 
fancy,  and  wondering  that  any  body  would  establish  it  as 
a  rule  to  lose  a  day  in  every  week.     In  the  midst  of  these 
my  musings,  she  desired  me  to  reach  her  a  little  salt  upon 
the  point  of  ray  knife,   which  I  did  in   such  a  trepidation 
and  hurry  of  obedience,  that  I  let  it  drop  by  the  way  ;  at 
which  she  immediately  startled,  and  said  it  fell  towards 
her.     Upon  this  I   looked    very  blank  ;   and,    observing 
the  concern  of  the  whole  table,  began  to  consider  myself, 
with  some  confusion,  as  a  person  that  had  brought  a  dis- 
aster upon  the  family. 

4.  The  lady,   however,  recovering  herself,  after  a  little 
space,  said  to  her  husband  with  a  sigh,  c  My  dear,  mis- 
fortunes never  come  single.'  My  friend,  I  found  acted  but 
an  under  part  to  his  table,  and  being  a  man  of  more  good 
nature  than  understanding,  thinks  himself  obliged  to  fall  in 
vith  ail  the  passions  and  humors  of  his  yoke-fellow  :  4  Do 
you  remember,  child,'  says  she,  <  that  the  pigeon-houss 
fell  the  very  afternoon  that  our  careless  wench  spilt  the 


124-      The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

salt  upon  the  table  ?'  '  Yes,'  says  he,  <  my  dear,  and 
the  next  post  brought  us  an  account  of  the  battle  of  Al- 
manza*' 

5.  The  reader  may   guess  at  the  figure  I  made,   after 
having  done  all  this  mischief.     I  dispatched  my  dinner,  as 
soon  as  I  could,  with  my  usual  taciturnity  :  when,  to  my 
utter  confusion,  the  lady  seeing  me  quitting  my  knife  and 
fork,  and  laying  across  one  another  upon  my  plate,  desired 
me  that  I  would  humor  her  so  far  as  to  take  them  out  of 
that  figure,  and  place  them  side  by  side. 

6.  What  the  absurdity  was  which  I  had   committed  I 
did  not  know,  but  I  suppose  there  was  some  traditionary 
superstition  in  it  ;   and  therefore  in  obedience  to  the  lady 
of  the  house,  I  disposed  of  my  knife  and  fork  in  two  paral- 
lel lines,  which  is  a  figure  I  shall  always  lay  them  in  for 
the  future,  though- 1  do  not  know  any  reason  for  it. 

7.  It  is  not  difficult  to  a  man  to  see  that  a  person  has 
conceived  an  aversion  to  him.     For  my  own  part,  I  quick- 
ly found  by  the  lady's  looks,  that  she  regarded   me  as  a 
very  odd  kind  of  fellow,  with  an    unfortunate  aspect  :  for 
which   reason  I  took  my  leave  immediately  after  dinner^ 
and  withdrew  to  my  own  lodgings. 

8.  Upon  my  return  home,  I   fell  into  a  profound  con- 
templation on  the  evils  that  attend  these  superstitious  fol- 
lies of  mankind  ;   how  they  subject  us  to  imaginary  afflic- 
tions and  additional  sorrows,   that  do  not  properly  come 
within  our  lot.     As  if  the  natural  calamities  of  life  were 
not  sufficient  for  it,  we  turn  the  most  indifferent  circum- 
stances into  misfortunes,  and  suffer  as  much  from  trifling; 
accidents,  as  from  real  evils. 

9.  I   have  known  the  shooting  of  a  star  spoil  a  night's 
rest  ;  and  have  seen  a  man  in  love  grow  pale  and  lose  his 
appetite,  upon  the  plucking  of  a  merry  ^thought.  A  screech 
owl  at  midnight  has  alarmed  a  family  more  than  a  band  of 
robbers ;  nay,  the  voice  of  a  cricket  hath   struck  more 
terror  than  the  roaring  of  a  lion. 

10.  There  is  nothing  so  inconsiderable,  which  may  not 
appear  dreadful  to  an  imagination  that  is  filled  with  omens 
and  prognostics.     A  rusty  nail,  or  crooked  pin,  shoot  up 
into  prodigies. 

1 1.  I  remember  I  w,as  once  in  a  mixt   assembly,   that 
\vas  full  of  noise   and  mirth,  when  on  a  sudden   an  old 


'  and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  i £ i' 

woman  unluckily  observed  there  were  thirteen  of  us  in 
company.  This  remark  struck  a  panic  terror  into  several 
who  were  present,  insomuch  that  one  or  two  of  the  ladies 
were  going  to  leave  the  room  ;  but  a  friend  of  mine  tak- 
ing notice  that  one  of  our  female  companions  was  big  with 
"  child,  affirmed  there  were  fourteen  in  the  room,  and  that 
instead  of  portending  one  of  the  company  should  die,  it 
plainly  foretold  one  of  them  should  be  born.  Hud  not 
sny  friend  found  out  this  expedient  to  break  the  omen,  I 
question  not  but  half  the  women  in  the  company  would 
have  fallen  sick  that  very  night. 

12.  An  okl  maid,  that  is  troubled  with  the  vapors,  pro- 
duces infinite  disturbances  of  this  kind  among  her  friends 
and  neighbors.     I  know  a  maiden  aunt,  of  a  great  family, 
who  is  one  of  these  antiquated  Sibyls,  that  ibrbodes  and 
prophesies  from  one  end  of  the   year  to  the  other.     She 
is  always  seeing  apparitions,  and  hearing  death-watches  ; 
and  was  the  other  day  almost  frighted  out  of  her  wits  by 
the:great  house-dog,  that  howled  in  the  stable  at  a  time- 
when  she  lay  ill  of  the  tooth-ache. 

13.  Such  an  extravagant  cast  of  mind  engages  multi- 
tudes of  people  not  only  in  impertinent  terrors,  but  in  su- 
pernumerary duties  of  Hie  ;  and  arises  from  that  fear  and 
ignorance  which  are  natural  to  the  soul  of  man. 

14.  The  horror  with  which  we  entertain  the  tliou^-hts 
of  death  (or  indeed  of  any  future  evil)  and  the  uncertain- 
ty of  its  approach,  fill  a  melancholy  mind  with  innume- 
rable apprehensions  and  suspicions,  and  consequently  dis- 
pose it  to  the  observation  of  such  groundless  prodigies  and 
predictions.     For  as  it  is  the   chief  concern  of  wise  men, 
to  retrench  the  evils  of  life  by  the  reasonings  of  philoso- 
phy ;  it  is  the  employment  of  fools  to  multiply  them  by 
the  sentiments  of  superstition. 

15.  For  my  own  part,  I  should  be  very  much  troubled 
were   1  endowed  with    this    divining  quality,   though    it 
should  inform  me  truly  of  every  thing  that  can  befal  me, 
I  would  not  anticipate  the  relish  of  any  happiness,  nor  feel 
the  weight  of  any  misery,  before  it  actually  arrives. 

16.  I  know  but  one  way  of  fortifying  my   soul  against 
these  gloomy  presages  and  terrors  of  mind  ;   and  that  is, 
by  securing  to  myself  the  friendship  and  protection  of  that 
Being,  who  disposes  of  events  and  governs  futurity.     He 


126      The  Young.  Gentleman  and  Ladfa  MONITOR, 

sees  at  one  view,  the  whole  thread  of  my  existence,  not 
only  that  part  of  it  which  I  have  already  passed  through, 
but  that  which  runs  forward  into  all  the  depths  of  eternity. 
17.  When  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep,  I  recommend  my- 
self to  his  care  ;  when  I  awake,  I  give  myself  up  to  his 
direction.  Amidst  all  the  evils  that  threaten  me,  I  will 
look  up  to  him  for  help,  and  question  not  but  he  will  ei- 
ther avert  them,  or  turn  them  to  my  advantage.  Though 
I  know  neither  the  time  nor  the  manner  of  the  death  I 
am  to  die,  I  am  not  at  all  solicitous  about  it  ;  because  I 
am  sure  that  he  knows  them  both,  and  that  he  will  not 
fail  to  comfort  and  support  me  under  them.  , 


A  good   Conscience   the  best  Security  against    Calumny  and 
Reproach. 

GUARDIAN,  NO.  135. 

1.  /%  GOOD  conscience  is  to  the  soul  what  health  is 
J~\  to  the  body  ;  it  preserves  a  constant  ease  and  se- 
renity within  us,  and  more  than  countervails  all  the  calam- 
ities and  afflictions  which  can  possibly  befal  us.  I  know- 
nothing  so  hard  for  a  generous  mind  to  get  over  as  calum- 
ny and  reproach,  and  cannot  find  any  method  of  quieting 
the  soul  under  them,  besides  this  single  one,  of  our  being 
conscious  to  ourselves  that  we  do  not  deserve  them. 

2.  I  have  been  always  mightily  pleased  with  that  pas- 
sage in  Don  Quixote,   where  the  fantastical  knight  is  re- 
presented   as  loading   a  gentleman  of  good    sense  with 
praises  and  eulogiums.  Upon  which  the  gentleman  makes 
this  reflection  to  himself  :  How  grateful  is  praise  to  hu- 
man nature  ! 

3.  I  cnnnot  forbear  being  secretly  pleased   with  the 
commendations  I  receive,  though   I   am  sensible,  it  is  a 
jnadman  who  bestows  them  on  me.     In  the  same  man- 
ner, though  we  are  often  sure  that  the  censures  which  are 
passed  upon  us,  are   uttered  by  those  who  know  nothing 
of  us,  and  have  neither  means  nor  abilities  to  form  a  right 
judgment  of  us,  we  cannot  forbear  being  grieved  at  what 
they  say. 

4.  In  order  to  heal  this  infirmity,  which  is  so  natural 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT,  i27 

to  the  best  and  wisest  of  men,  I  have  taken  a  particular 
pleasure  in  observing  the  conduct  of  the  old  philosophers, 
how  they  bore  themselves  up  against  the  malice  and  de- 
traction of  their  enemies.  - 

5.  The  way  to  silence  calumny,  says  Bias,  is  to  be  al- 
ways exercised  in  such  things  as  are  praise-worthy.     So- 
crates,  after  having  received  sentence,  told  his  friends  that 
he  had  always  accustomed  himself  to  regard  truth  and  not 
censure,   and  that  he  was  not  .troubled  at  his  condemna- 
tion, because  he  knew  himself  free  from  guilt.  ,  It  was  in 
the  same  spirit  that  he  heard  the  accusations  of  his   two 
great  adversaries,  who  had  uttered  against  hi ov the, most 
virulent  reproaches. 

6.  Amjtus  and  Mditus,  says  he,  may  procure  sentence 
against  me,  but  they  cannot  hurt  me.     This  divine  philo- 
sopher was   so  well   fortified  in  his  own  innocence,  that 
he  neglected  all  the  impotence  of  evil  tongues  which  were 
engaged  in   his  destruction.     This  was  properly  the  sup- 
port of  a  good   conscience,  that   contradicted  the  reports 
which  had   been   raised  against  him,    and  cleared  him  to 
himself. 

7.  Others  of  the  philosophers  rather  chose  to  retort  the 
injury  of  a  smart  reply,  than   thus  to  disarm  it  with  res- 
pect to  themselves.     They  show  that  it  stung  them,  tho' 
at  the  same  time  they  had  the  address  to  make  their  ag- 
gressors suffer  with  them.     Of  this  kind  is  Aristotle's  re- 
ply to  one  wrho  pursued  him  with    long  and  bitter  invec- 
tives.    You,  says  he,  who  are  used  to  suffer  reproaches, 
utter  them  with  delight  ;  I  who  have  not  been  used  to  ut- 
ter them,  take  no  pleasure  in  hearing  them. 

8*  Diogenes  was  still  more  severe  on  one  who  spoke 
ill  of  him  :  no  body  will  believe  you  when  you  speak  ill 
of  me,  any  more  than  they  would  believe  me  should  I 
speak  well  of  you. 

In  these  and  many  other  instances  I  could  produce,  the 
bitterness  of  the  answer  sufficiently  testifies  the  uneasiness 
of  mind  the  person  was  under  who  made  it. 

9.  I  would  rather  advise  my  reader,  if  he  has  not  in  this 
ease  the  secret  consolation,  that  he  deserves  no  such  re- 
proaches as  are  cast  upon  him,  to  follow  the  advice  of 
Epicletus  :  If  any  one  speaks  ill  of  tkee,  consider  whether 
he  has  truth  on  his  side  :  and  if  so,  reform  thyself,  that 
Ins  censures  may  not  affect  thee. 


128     The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

10.  When  Anaximancler  was  told  that  the  very  boys 
laughed  at  his  singing  :   Ay,  says  he,  then  I  must  learn  to 
sing  better.     But  of  all  the  sayings  of  philosophers  which 
I  have  gathered  together  for  my  own  use  on  this  occasion, 
there  are    none  which  carry  in  them    more    candor  and 
good  sense  than  the  two  following  ones  of  Plato. 

1 1.  Being  told  that    he  had  many  enemies  who  spoke 
ill  of  him  ;  it  is  no  matter,  said  he,  I  will  live  so  that  none 
shall  believe  them.     Hearing  at  another  time,  that  an  in- 
timate friend  of   his  had  spoken  detractingly  of  him  :   I 
am  sure  he  would   not  do  it,  says  he,  if  he  had  not  some 
reason  for  it. 

12.  This  is  the  surest  as  well  as  the  noblest  way  of 
drawing  the  sting  out  of  a  reproach,   and  a  true  method 
of  preparing  a  man  for  that   great  and  only  relief  against 
the  pains  of  calumny,  '  a  good  conscience.' 

13.  I  designed,  in  this  essay,  to  show,  that  there  is  no 
happiness  wanting  to  him  who  is  possessed  of  this  excel- 
lent frams  of  mind,  and  that  no  person  can  be  miserable 
\vho  is  in  the  enjoyment  of  it  ;  but  I  find  this  subject  so 
v/ell  treated  in  one  of  Dr.  South's  sermons,  that  I  shall  fill 
this  Saturday's  paper  with  a  passage  of  it,  which  cannot 
but  make  the  man's  heart  burn  within  him,  who  reads  it 
with  due  attention. 

14.  That  admirable  author,  having  shown  the  virtue  of 
a  good  conscience,  in  supporting  a  man  under  the  greatest 
trials  and  difficulties   of  life,  concludes  with  representing 
its  force  and  efficacy  in  the  hour  of  death. 

15.  The    third   and  last   instance,   in  which  above  all 
ethers  this  confidence  towards  God  does  most  eminently 
show  and   exert  itself,   is  at  the  time  of  death  :  which 
surely   gives   the  grand   opportunity  of  trying  both  the 
strength  and  worth  of  every  principle. 

16-  When  a  man  shall  be  just  about  to  quit  the  stage 
of  this  world,  to  put  oiT  his  mortality,  and  to  deliver  up 
his  last  accounts  to  God  ;  at  which  sad  time  his  memory 
shall  serve  him  for  little  else,  but  to  terrify  him  with  a 
frightful  review  of  his  past  life,  and  his  former  extravagan- 
cies stripped  of  all  their  pleasure,  but  retaining  their  guilt; 
>vhat  is  it  then  that  can  promise  him  a  fair  passage  into 
the  other  world,  or  a  comfortable  appearaace  before  his 
dreadful  judge  when  he  is  there? 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  129 

17. 'Not  all  the  friends  and  interests,  all  the  riches 
and  honors  under  heaven  can  speak  so  much  as  a  word 
for  him,  or  one  word  of  comfort  to  him  in  that  condition  ; 
they  may  possibly  reproach,  but  they  cannot  relieve 
him. 

18.  No,  at  this  disconsolate    time,    when    the    busy 
tempter  shall  be  more  than  usually  apt  to  vex  and  trouble 
him,  and  the  pains  of  a  dying  body  to  hinder  and  dis- 
compose him,  and  the   settlement  of  worldly   affairs  to 
disturb  and  confound  him  ;  and  in    a  word,   all   things 
conspire  to  make  his  sick-bed  grievous  and  uneasy  :  no- 
thing can  then  stand  up  against  all  these  ruins,  and  speak 
life  in  the  midst  of  death,  but  a  clear  conscience. 

19.  And  the  testimony  of  that  shall  make  the  comforts 
of  heaven  descend  upon  his  weary  head,  like  a  refreshing 
dew,  or  shower  upon  a  parched  ground.     It   shall  give 
him  some  lively  earnests,  and  secret  anticipations  of  his 
approaching  joy.     It  shall  bid  his  soul  go  out  of  the  body 
undauntedly,  and  lift  up  his  head  with   confidence  before 
saints  and  angels.     Surely  the  comfort,  which  it  conveys 
at  this  season,  is  something  bigger  than  the  capacities  of 
mortality,  mighty  and  unspeakable,  and  not  to  be   under- 
stood till  it  comes  to  be  felt. 

20.  And  now  who  would  not  quit    all  the  pleasures, 
and  trash,  and  trifles,  which  are  apt  to  captivate  the  heart 
of  man,  and  pursue  the  great  rigors  of  piety,    and  au- 
sterities of  a  good  life,   to  purchase  to  himself  such  a 
conscience,   as  at  the  hour  of  death,  when  all  the  friend- 
ship in  the  world   shall   bid  him  adieu,   and   the   whole 
creation  turns  its  back  upon  him,   shall  dismiss  the  soul 
and  close  his  eyes  with  that  blessed  sentence,  '  Well  done 
thou  good  and  faithful  servant,  enter  thou  into  the  joy  of 
thy  Lord.' 

On  Contentment. 

i 

SPECTATOR,  NO.  574. 

"*  T  ^^  once  Engaged  in  discourse  with  a  Rosicrucian 

JL  about   the  great  secret.     As    this  kind  of   men  (I 

mean  those  of  them  who  are  not  professed  cheats)  are 


130       The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

over-run  with  enthusiasm  and  philosophy,  it  was  very 
amusing  to  hear  this  religious  adept  discanting  on  his  pre- 
tended discovery.  He  talked  of  the  secret  as  of  a  spirit 
which  lived  within  an  emerald,  and  converted  every 
thing  that  was  near  it  to  the  highest  perfection  it  is  capa- 
ble of. 

2.  It  gives  a  lustre,  says  he,  to  the  sun,  and  water  to 
the   diamond.     It   irradiates  every   metal,    and   enriches 
lead  with  all  the  properties  of  gold.     It  heightens  smoke 
into  flame,    flame   into   light,   and   light  into  glory.     He 
further  added,  that  a  single  ray  of  it  dissipates  pain,  and 
care,  and  melancholy,  from  the  person  on  whom  it  falls. 
In  short,    says  he,   its    presence  naturally  changes  every 
place  into  a  kind  of  heaven*. 

3.  After  he  had  gone  on  for  some  time  in  this  unintel- 
ligible cant,   I   found  that  he  jumbled   natural  and  moral 
ideas  together  in  the  same  discourse,  and  that  his  great 
secret  was  nothing  else  but  content. 

4.  This  virtue  does  indeed  produce,  in  some  measure, 
all  those  effects  which  the   alchymist  usually  ascribes  to 
what  he  calls  the  philosopher's  stone  ;  and  if  it  does  not 
bring  riches,    it  does  the  same    thing,   by  banishing  the 
desire  of  them.     If  it  cannot  remove    the    disquietudes 
arising  out  of  a  man's  mind,   body  or  fortune,   it  makes 
him  easy   under  them.     It  has  indeed   a  kindly  influence 
on  the  sou!  of  man,  in  respect  of  every  being  to  whom  he 
stands  related.     It  extinguishes  all  murmur,  repining  and 
ingratitude    towards  that    Being    who   has  allotted   him 
his  part   to  act  in  this  world.     It  destroys   all  inordinate 
ambition,  and  every  tendency  to   corruption,  with  regard 
to  the  community  wherein  he  is  placed.     It  gives  sweet- 
ness to  his  conversation,  and  a  perpetual  serenity  to  all 
his  thoughts. 

5.  Among  the  many  methods  which  might  be  made 
use   of  for  the  acquiring  of  this  virtue,  I  shall  only  men- 
tion the  t\vo  following.     First  of  all,  a  man  should  always 
consider   how  much   he   has    more  than  he  wants  :   and 
secondly,  how  much  more  unhappy  he  might  be  than  he 
really  is. 

6.  First  of  all,  a  man  should  always  consider  how  much 
more  he  has  than   he  wants.     I  am   wonderfully  pleased 
with  the  reply  which  Aristippus  made  to  one  who  condo- 


and  English  Teacher's  As  si s  T  AN  T.  121 

led  him  upon  the  loss  of  a  farm  :  c  Why,  said  he,  I  have 
three  farms  still,  and  you  have  but  one  ;  so  that  I  ought 
rather  to  be  afflicted  for  you  than  you  for  me.'  On  the 
contrary,  foolish  men  are  more  apt  to  consider  what  they 
have  lost  than  what  they  possess  ;  and  to  fix  their  eyes 
upon  those  who  are  richer  than  themselves,  rather  than 
on  those  who  are  under  greater  difficulties. 

7.  All  the  real  pleasures  and  conveniences  of  life  lie  in 
a  narrow  compass  ;  but  it  is  the  humor  of  mankind,  to  be 
always  looking  forward,  and  straining  after  one  who  has 
got  the  start  of  them  in  wealth  and  honor.     For,  this  rea- 
son, as  there  are  none  can  be  properly  called  rich  who 
have  not  more  than  they  want ;  there  are  few  rich  men 
in  any  of  the  politer  nations  but  among  the  middle  sort  of 
people,  who  keep  their  wishes  within  their  fortunes,  and 
have  more  wealth  than  they  know  how  to  enjoy. 

8.  Persons  of  a  higher  rank  live  in  a  kind  of  splendid 
poverty  ;  and    are  perpetually  wanting,   because,  instead 
of  acquiescing  in  the  solid  pleasures  of  life,  they  endea- 
vor to   outvy  one  another  in  shadows   and  appearances. 
Men  of  sense  have  at  all  times  beheld  with  a   great  deal 
of  mirth  this  silly  game  that  is  playing  over  their  heads, 
and  by  contracting  their  desires   enjoy  all  that  secret  sat- 
isfaction which  others  are  always  in  quest  of. 

9.  The  truth  is,  this  ridiculous  chase   after  imaginary 
pleasures  cannot  be  sufficiently  exposed,  as  it  is  the  great 
source  of  those  evils  which  generally  undo  a  nation.     Let 
a  man's  estate  be  what  it  will,  he  is  a  poor  man  if  he  does 
not  live  within  it,  and  naturally  sets  himself  to  sale  to  any 
one  that  can  give  him  his  price. 

10.  When  Pitticus,  after  the  death  of  his  brother,  who 
had  left  him  a  good  estate,  was  offered  a   greater  sum  ©f 
money  by  the   king  of  Lydia,    he  thanked  him  for  his 
kindness,  but  told  him  he  had  already  more  by  half  than 
he  knew  what  to  do  with.     In  short,  content  is  equivalent 
to  wealth,  and  luxury  to  poverty ;  or  to  give  the  thought 
a   more   agreeable  turn,    '  Content  is     natural  wealth,1 
says  Socrates  ;  to  which  I  shall  add,  '  Luxury  is  artifi- 

t  cial  poverty.' 

I;  11.  I  shall  therefore  recommend  to  the  consideration 
of  those  who  are  always  aiming  after  superfluous  and 
imaginary  enjoyments,  'and  will  not  be  at  the  trouble  cf 


132      The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

contracting  their  desires,  an  excellent  saying  of  Bion  the 
philosopher  ;  namely,  '  That  no  man  has  so  much  care 
as  he  who  endeavors  after  the  most  happiness/ 

12.  In  the  second  place,   every  one  ought  to  reflect 
how  much  more  unhappy  he  might  be  than  he  really   is. 
The  former  consideration  took  in  all  those  who  are  suf- 
ficiently provided   with  the    means   to  make  themselves 
easy  ;  this  regards  such  as  actually  lie  under  some  press- 
ure or  misfortune. 

13.  These  may  receive  a  great  alleviation  from  such 
a  comparison  as  the  unhappy  person  may  make  between 
himself  and  others,  or  between  the  misfortunes  which  he 
suffers,  and  greater  misfortunes  which  might   have  be* 
fallen  him. 

14.  I  like  the  story  of  the  honest  Dutchman,  who,  up- 
on breaking  his  leg  by   a  fall  from  the  main-mast,  told 
the  standers-by,  it  was  a  great  mercy  it  was  not  his  neck. 
To  which,    since     I  am    got  into  quotations,  give    me 
leave  to  add  the  saying  of  an   old  philosopher,  who,  after 
having  invited  some  of  his  friends  to  dine  with  him,  was 
ruffled  by  his  wife  that  came  into  the  room  in  a  passion, 
and  threw  down  the  table  that  stood  befoie  them  ;  Every 
one,  says  he,    has  his  calamity,  and  he  is  a  happy  man 
that  has  no  greater  than  this.' 

15.  We  find  an   instance  to  the  same  purpose  in  the 
life  of  Doctor  Hammond,  written  by  Bishop  Fell.     As 
this  good  man  was  troubled  with  a  complication  of  dis- 
tempers,  when  he   had  the  gout   upon  him,  he  used  to 
thank  God  that  it  was  not  the  stone  ;  and  when  he  had 
the  stone,  that  he  had  not  both  these  distempers  on  him 
at  the  same  time. 

16.  I   cannot  conclude  this   essay  without  observing, 
that  there  was  never  any  system  besides  that  of  Chris- 
tianity,  which  could   effectually  produce  in  the  mind  of 
man   the  virtue  I  have  been   hitherto  speaking   of.     In 
order   to  make  us  content  with  our   present  condition, 
many  of  the  present  philosophers   tell  us,   that  our  dis- 
content only  hurts  ourselves,  without  being  able  to  make 
an  alteration  in  our  circumstances  ;  others,  that  whatever 
evil  befals  us,   is  derived  to  us  by  a  fatal  necessity,  to 
which    the   gods  themselves   are   subject ;   while  others 
very  gravely   tell  the  man  who  is  miserable,  that  it  is 


•und  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  133 

•necessary  he  should  be  so  to  keep  up  the  harmony  of  the* 
universe,  and  that  the  scheme  of  Providence  would  be 
troubled  and  perverted  were  he  otherwise. 

17.  These  and  the  like  considerations,  rather  silence 
than  satisfy  a  man.     They  may  show  him  that  his  discon- 
tent is  unreasonable,  but  are  by  no  means  sufficient  to  re- 
lieve it.     They  rather  give  despair  than  consolation.     In 
a,word,  a  man  might  reply  to  one  of  these  comforters,  as 
Augustus  did  to  his  friend  who  advised  him  not  to  grieve 
for  the  death  of  a  person  whom  he  loved,  because  his  grief 
could  not  fetch   him  ag/iin  :  c  It  is  for  that  very  reason, 
said  the  emperor,  that  I  grieve.' 

18.  On  the  contrary,  religion  bears  a   more  tender  re- 
gard to  human  nature.     It  prescribes  to  a  very  miserable 
man  the  means  of  bettering  his  condition  ;  nay,  it  shows 
him  that  the  bearing  of  his  dHictions  as  lie   ought  to  do* 
will  naturally  end  in  the  removal  of  them  :  it  makes  him 
easy  here-  because  it  can  make  him  happy  hereafter. 

19.  Upon  the  whole,  a  contented  mind  is  the  gn  ; 
bjessing  a  man  can  enjoy  in  this  world  ;   and  if  in  the 
er<t  life  his  happiness  arises  from  the  subduing  h 

Jt  will  arise  in  the  next  from  the  gratification  of  them* 


Human  Maries  chieflif  Imaginary* 

1.  TT  is  a  celebrated  thought  of  Soc rates^  thrlt  if  all  the" 
JL  misfortunes  of  mankind  were  cast  into  a  public 
stock,  in  order  to  be  equally  distributed  among  the  whole" 
species,  those  who  now  thiiik  themselves  the  most  unhap- 
py, would  prefer  the  share  they  are  already  possessed  of, 
before  that  which  would  fall  to  them  by  such  a  division. 
Horace  has  carried  this  thought  a  great  deal  further  ;  who 
that  the  hardships  or  misfortunes  we  lie  under,  are 
moi2  easy  to  us  than  those  of  any  other  person  would  be, 
in  case  we  should  change  conditions  with  him. 

-.  As  1  was  ruminating  on  these  two  remarks,  and 
seated  in  n\y  elbow  chair,  I  insensibly  fell  asleep  ;  when? 
on  a  sudden,  raethought  i .here  was  a  proclamation  made 
by  Juftiter)  that  every  mortal  should  !  I  his  griefs 


131-       The  Young  Gentleman  amt  J&tdy's  MONITOR, 

and  calamities,  and  throw  them  together  in  a  heap* 
There  was  a  large  plain  appointed  for  this  purpose.  I 
took  my  stand  in  the  centre  of  it,  and  saw5  with  a  great 
deal  of  pleasure,  the  whole  human  species  marching  one 
after  another,  and  throwing  down  their  several  loads, 
•which  immediately  grew  up  into  a  prodigious  mountain? 
that  seemed  to  rise  above  the  clouds. 

3.  There  was  a  certain  lady,  of  a  thin  airy  shape  >vho 
was  very  active  in  this  solemnity.     She   carried  a  magni- 
fying-glass  in  one   of  her  hands,   and  was    clothtd  in   a 
loose  flowing  robe,   embroidered  with   several  figures  of 
fiends  and  spectres,  that  discovered  themselves  in  a  thou- 
sand chimerical  shapes,  as  her  garment   hovered  in  the 
wind.     There  was  something  wild  and  distracted  in  her 
looks. 

4.  Her  name  v/as  Fancy,     She  led  up  every  mortal  to 
the  appointed  pjace,  after  having  very  officiously  assisted 
him  in  making  up  his  pack,  and  laying  it  upon  his  shoul- 
ders.    My  heart  melted  within  me  to  see  my  fellow  crea- 
tures groaning  under  their  respective  burthens,  and  *o  con- 
sider  that  prodigious  bulk  of  human  calamities  which  lay 
before  me. 

5.  There  were,  however,  several  persons  who  gave  me 
great  diversion  upon  this  occasion.     I  observed  one  bring- 
ing  in  a  fardel  very  carefully  concealed  under  an  old  em- 
broidered cloak,  which,  upon  his  throwing  it  into  the  heap, 
I  discovered   to  be  poverty.     Another,   after  a  grer.J:  deal 
of  puffing,  threw  clown  his  luggage  ;   which,  upon  exam- 
ining, I  found  to  be  Vis  wife. 

6.  There  were  multitudes  of  lovers   saddled  with  very 
Avhimsical  burthens,  composed   of  darts  and  flames;  but 
what  was  very  odd,  though  they  sighed  as  if  their  hearts 
would  break,  under  these    bundles  of    calamities,  they 
could  not  persuade  themselves  to  cast  them  into  the  heap, 
•when  they  came   up  to  it ;  but,  after  a  ft w  faint   < A" rts, 
shook  their  heads  and  marched  away,  as  heavy   laden  as 
they  came. 

7.  I  saw  multitudes  of  old   women  throw  down  their 
winkles,  and  several  young  ones  who  stripped  themselves 
ef  a   tawny  skin.     There   were  very   great  heaps  of  red 
noses,  large  lips,   and  rusty  teeth.     The    truth  of  it  is,   I 

an  raised  to  s?e  the  greatest  part  of  the  mountain 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  ,    .        l|.| 

ttiade  up  of  bodily  deformities.  Observing  one  advancing 
towards  the  heap  with  a  larger  cargo  than  ordinary  upon 
his  back,  I  found  upon  his  nearer  approach,  that  it.  was  on- 
ly a  natural  hump,  which  he  disposed  of  with  great  joy  of 
heart,  among  this  collection  of  human  miseries. 

8.  There  were  likewise  distempers  of  all  sorts,  though 
I  could  not  but  observe,  that  there  were  many  more  •  im- 
aginary   than  real.     One    little   packet  I   coulcl  not  but 
take  notice  of,  which  was  a  complication  of  the  diseases 
incident   to  human   nature,   and  was  in  the   hands  of  « 
great  many  fine  people  :  this  was  called  the  spleen.     But 
what  most  of  all  surprised  me,  was  a  remark  I   made, 
that  there  was  not  a  single  vice  or  folly  thrown  into  the 
whole  heap  ;  at  which  I  was  very  much  astonished,  hav- 
ing' concluded  within  myself,  that  every  one  would  take 
this  opportunity  of  getting  rid  of  his  passions,  prejudices 
and  frailties. 

9.  I  took  notice  in  particular  of  a  very  profligate  fel- 
low, who,  I  did  not  question,  came  laden  with  his  crimes, 
but  upon  searching  into  his  bundle,  I  found,  that  instead 
of  throwing  his  guilt  from   him,   he  had  only  Laid  down 
bis  memory.     He   was   followed  by   another  worthless 
rogue,  who  flung  away  his  modesty  instead  of  his   igno- 
rance. 

10.  When  the  whole  race  of  mankind  had  thus  cast 
their  burthens,  the  phantom  which  had  been  so  busy  on 
this  occasion,  seeing  mean  idle  spectator  of  what  passed, 
approached  towards  me.     I  grew  uneasy  at  her  presence, 
when,  on  a  sudden,  she  laid  her  magnifying-glass  full  be- 
fore my  eyes.     I  no  sooner  snv  my  face  in  it  but  was 
startled  at  the  shortness  of  it,  which  now  appeared  to  me 
in  its  utmost  aggravation. 

It.  The  immoderate  breadth  of  my  features  made  me 
fery  much  out  of  humor  with  my  own  countenance,  up* 
on  which  I  threw  it  from  me  like  a  mask.  It  happened 
very  luckily,  that  one  who  stood  by  me  had  just  before 
thrown  down  his  visage,  which,  it  seems,  was  too  long 
for  him.  It  was  indeed  extended  to  a  most  shameful 
length  ;  I  believe  the  very  chin  was,  modestly  speaking, 
as  long  as  my  wfeole  face. 

12.  We  had  both  of  us  an  opportunity  of  mending 
ourselves,  and  all.  the  cppt^bitfions  being  now  brought  in? 


t$$     The    Young  Gentl»r.ian  and  Lady's  MONITOR^,. 

every  man  was  at  liberty  to  exchange  his  misfortune  for 
those  of  another  person.  But  as  there  arose  many  new 
incidents  in  the  sequel  of  my  vision,  I  shall  pursue  this 
f:ubject  further,  as  the  moral  •which  may  be  drawn  from 
it.  is  applicable  to  persons  of  all  degrees  and  stations  in 
life. 

13.T  Gave  my  reader  a  sight  of  that  mountain  of  mise- 
JL  ries,  which  was  made  up  of  those  several  calami- 
ties that  afflict  the  minds  of  men.  I  saw  with  unspeakable 
pleasure,  the  whole  species  thus  delivered  from  its  sor- 
rows ;  though,  at  the  same  time,  as  we  stood  round  the 
heap,  and  surveyed  the  several  materials  of  which  it  was 
composed,  there  was  scarce  a  mortal,  in  this  vast  multi- 
tude, who  did  not  discover  what  he  thought  pleasures 
and  blessings  of  life  ;  and  wondered  how  the  owners  of 
them  ever  came  to  look  upon  them  as  burthens  and 
grievances. 

14.  As  we  were  regarding  very  attentively  this  con- 
fusion of  miseries,  this  chaos  of  calamity,  Jupiter  issued 
out  a  second  proclamation,  that  every  one  was  now  at 
liberty  to  exchange   his  affliction,  and  to  return  to  his 
habitation  with  any  such  other  bundle  as  should  be  de- 
livered to  him. 

15.  Upon   this,  Fancy  began   again   to  bestir  herself," 
end  parcelling  out  the  whole  heap,  with  incredible   activ- 
ity, recommended   to  every  one    his   particular  packet*. 
The  hurry  and  confusion  at  this  time  was  not  to  be  ex- 
pressed.    Some    observations,   which   I   made  upon    the 
occasion,   I   shall  communicate  to  the  reader-     A  vene- 
rable grey-headed  man,   who  had  laid  down   the  cholic, 
and  who  I  found  wanted   an  heir  to  his  estate,  snatched 
np  an  undutiful  son,  that  hud  been  thrown  into  the  heap 

his  angry  father. 

16.  The  graceless  youth,  in  less  than  a  quarter  of  an 
hour,   pulled  the  old   gentleman  by  the  beard,  and  had 
like  to  have  knocked  his  brains  out  ;  so  that  meeting  the 
true  father,  who  came  towards  him  in  a  fit  of  the  gripes,, 
he  begged  him  to  take  his  son  again,  and  give  him  back 
his  chc-iic  ;  but  they  were  incapable  either  of  them  to  re- 
cede from  the  choice  they  had  made. 

17.  A  poor  galley-slave,   who  had   thrown  down  his. 
clxainsj   took  up  the   gout  in  their  stead,  "b.ut  made  such. 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT,  1ST 

wry  faces,  that  one  might  easily  perceive  he  -was  no  great 
gainer  by  the  bargain.  It  was  pleasant  enough  to  see  the 
several  exchanges  that  were  made,  for  sickness  against 
poverty,  hunger  against  want  of  appetite,  and  care  against 
pain. 

18.  The  female  world  were  very  busy   among  them- 
selves in  bartering  for  features  ;  one  was  trucking  a  lock 
of  grey  hairs  for  a  carbuncle,  another  was  making  over  a 
short  waist  for  a  pair  of  round  shoulders,  and  a  third  cheap- 
ening a  bad  face  for  a  lost  reputation  :  but  on   all  these 
occasions,  there  was  not  one  of  them  who  did  not  think 
the  new  blemish,  as  soon  as  she  had  got  it  into  her  posses- 
sion, much  more  disagreeable  than  the  old  one. 

19.  I  made  the  same  observation  on  every  other  mis- 
fortune or   calamity,  which  every  one  in  the    assembly 
brought  upon  himself,  in  lieu  of  what  he  had  parted  with  ; 
•whether  it  be  that  all  the  evils  which  befal  us  are  in  some 
measure  suited  and  proportioned  to  our  strength,  or  that 
every  evil  becomes  more  supportable  by  our  being  accus- 
tomed to  it,  I  shall  not  determine. 

20.  I  could  not,  for  my  heart,  forbear  pitying  the  poov 
hump-backed  gentleman  mentioned  in  the  former  paper, 
who  went  off* a  very  well-shaped  person  with  a  stone  in  his 
bladder  ;  nor  the  fine  gentleman  who  had  struck  up  his 
bargain  with  hira,  that  Ihnped  through  a  whole  assembly 
of  ladies  who  used  to  admire  him,  with  a  pair  of  shoulders 
peeping-  over  his  head.. 

21.  I    must  not  omit  my  own  particular  adventure. 
My  friend  with  the  long  visage  had  no  sooner  taken  upon 
him  my  short  face,  but  he  made  such  a  grotesque  figure 
in  it,  that,  as  I   looked  upon  him,  I  could  not  forbear 
laughing  at  myself,  insomuch   that  I  put  my  own  face 
out  of  countenance.     The  poor  gentleman  was  so  sensi- 
ble of  the  ridicule,  that  I  found  he  was  ashamed  of  what 
he  had  done  ;  on  the  other,  side,   I  found    that    I   myself 
had  no  great  reason  to  triumph,  for  as  i  went  to  touch  my 
forehead,  I  missed  the  place,  and  clapped  my  finger  upon 
my  upper  lip. 

22.  Besides,  as  my  nose  was  exceeding  prominent,  I 
ftave  it  two  or  three  unlucky  knocks  as  I  was  playing  my 
hand  about  my  face,  and  aiming  at  some  other  part  of  it, 
I  saw  two  other  gentlemen  by  me,  who  were  in  the  sam*; 

M  2 


138      The  Young  Gentleman  and  Ladifs  MONITOR, 

ridiculous  circumstances  :  these  had  made  a  foolish  swap 
between  a  couple  of  thick  bandy  legs,  and  two  long  trap- 
sticks  that  had  no  calfs  to  them. 

23.  One  of  these  looked  like  a  man  walking  upon  stilts, 
and  was  so  lifted  up  into  the  air  above  his  ordinary  height, 
that  his  head  turned  round  with  it,  while  the  other  made 
such  aukward  circles   as  he  attempted  to  walk,    that   be 
scarce  knew  how  to  move  forward  upon  his  new  support- 
ers :  observing    him  to  be  a  pleasant  kind  of  fellow,  I 
stuck  my  cane  in  the   ground,  and  told   him  I  would  I.ay 
him  a  bottle  of  wine,  that  he  did  not  march  up  tp  it  on.  a 
line  that  I  drew  for  him,  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 

24.  The  heap  was  at  last  distributed  among  the  two 
sexes,  who  made  a  most  piteous  sight,  as  they  wandered 
up  and  down  under  the  pressure  of  their  several  burthens* 
The  whole  plain  was  filled  with  murmurs  and  complaints, 
groans  and  lamentations.     Jupiter  at  length,  taking  com- 

ion  on  the  poor  mortals,  ordered  them  a  second  time 
to  lay  down  their  loads,  with  a  design  to  give  every  one 
his  own  again. 

25-  They  discharged  themselves  with,  a  great  deal  of 
pleasure,  after  which,  the  phantom,  who  had  led  them  into 
such  gross  delusions,  was  commanded  to  disappear.  There 
sent  in  her  stead  a  goddess  of  a  quite  different  figure-; 
her  motions  were  steady  and  composed,  and  her  aspect 
serious*  but  cheerful.  She  every  now  and  then  cast  her 
eyes  towards  heaven,  and  fixed  them  upon  Jupiter. 

26.  Her  name  was  Patience.    She  had  no  sooner  placed 
herself  by  the  mount  of  sorrow,  but  what  I  thought  very 
remarkable  the  whole  heap  sunk  to  such  a  degree,  that  it 
did  not  appear  a  third  part  so  big  as  it  was  before.     Sli^ 
afterwards  returned  every  man  his  own  proper  calamity, 
and  teaching  him  how  to  bear  it  in  the  most  commodious 
•manner,  he  marched  off  with  it  contentedly,  being  very- 
well  pleased  that  he  had  not  been  left  to  his  own  choice, 
as  to  the  kind  of  evils  which  fell  to  his  lot. 

27.  Besides  the  several  pieces  of  morality  to  be  drawn 
out  of  this  vision,  I  learned  from  it,  never  to  repine  at  my 
own  misfortunes,   nor  to  envy  the  happiness  of  another, 
since  it  is  impossible  for  any  man  to  form  a  right  judg- 
ment of  his  neighbor's  sufferings  ;  for  which  reason  also  I 
have  determined  never  to  think  too  lightly  of  another's 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  ••  i  3,  § 

complaints ,  but  to  regard  the  sorrows  of  my  fellow  crea- 
tures with  sentiments  of  humanity  and  compassion. 


A  Life  of  Virtue  preferable  to  a  Life  of  Pleasure^  exempli* 
Jied  in  the  Choice  of  Hercules. 

TATLER,   NO.  97. 

1. "TIT THEN  Hercules,  says  the  divine  Prodicus,  was 
VV  in  that  part  of  his  youth,  in  which  it  was  nat- 
ural for  him  to  consider  what  course  of  life  he  ought  to 
pursue,  he  one  day  retired  into  a  desert,  where  the  silence 
ana  solitude  of  the  place  very  much  favored  his  medita- 
tions. 

2.  As  he   was  musing  on  his   present  condition,  and 
very  much   perplexed  in  himself  on  the   state  of  life  he 
should  chuse,  he  saw  two  women  of  a  larger  stature  than 
ordinary  approaching  towards  him.     One  of  them  fiad  a 
very  noble  air  and  graceful  deportment  ;  her  beauty  was 

t  natural  and  easy  ;  her  person  clean  and  unspotted  ;  her 
ryes  cast  towards  the  ground,  with  an  agreeable  reserve  ; 
her  motion  and  behavior  full  of  modesty  ;  and  her  raiment 
^s  white  as  snow. 

3.  The  other  had  a  great  deal  of  health  and  fioridness 
in  her  'countenance,  which  she  had  helped  with  an  artifi-. 
cial  white  and  red,  and  endeavored  to  appear  more  grace- 
ful than  ordinary  in  her  mien,  by  a  mixture  of  affectation 
in  all  her  gestures.     She  had   a  wonderful  confidence  and 
assurance  in  her  looks,  and  all  the  variety  of  colors  in  her 
dress  that  she  thought  were  the  raost  proper  to  show  her 
complexion  to  an  advantage.     She  cast   her  eyes  upon 
herself,  then  turned  them  on  those  that  were  present  to 
see  how  they  liked  her,  and  often  looked  on  the  figure  she 
made  in  her  own  shadow. 

4.  Upon  her  nearer  approach  to  Hercules,  she  stepped 
before  the  other  lady,  who'  came  forward  with   a   regular 
vornposed  carriage,  and  running  up  to  him,  accosted  him 
t.-ter  the  following  manner* 

5.  My  dear   Hercules,  says  she,  I  find  you  are  very 
much  divided  in  your  own  thoughts,  upon  the  \\ay  of  life 


140      The  Young1  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

that  you  ought  to  chuse  :  be  my  friend  and  follow  me  ; 
I  will  lead  you  into  the  possession  of  pleasure  and  out  of 
the  reach  of  pain,  and  remove  you  from  all  the  noise  and 
disquietude  of  business.  The  affairs  of  either  war  or 
peace  shall  have  no  power  to  disturb  you.  Your  whole 
employment  shall  be  to  make  your  life  easy,  and  to  en- 
tertain every  sense  with  its  proper  gratifications.  Sump- 
tuous tables,  beds  of  roses,  clouds  of  perfumes,  concerts 
of  music,crouds  of  beauties,  are  all  in  readiness  to  receive 
you.  Come  along  with  me  into  this  region  of  delights, 
this  world  of  pleasure,  and  bid  farewel  for  ever  to  care,  to 
pain,  and  to  business. 

6.  Hercules   hearing  the  lady  talk  after  this  manner, 
desired  to  know  her  name  ;  to  which  she  answered,  my 
friends,  and  those  who  are  well  acquainted  with  me,  call 
me  happiness  ;  but  my  enemies,  and  those  who  would 
injure   my  reputation,     have  given    me   the    name   of 
Pleasure. 

7.  By  this  time  the  other  lady  was  come    up  who 
addressed  herself  to  the  young  hero  in  a  very  different 
manner. 

Hercules,  says  she,  I  offer  myself  to  you,  because  I 
know  you  are  descended  from  the  gods,  and  give  proofs 
of  that  descent  by  your  love  to  virtue,  and  application  to 
the  studies  proper  to  your  age.  This  makes  me  hope 
you  will  gain  both  for  yourself  and  me  an  immortal  repu- 
tation. But  before  I  invite  you  into  my  society  and  friend- 
ship, I  will  be  open  and  sincere  with  you,  and  must  lay 
clown  this  as  an  established  truth,  that  there  is  nothing 
truly  valuable  which  can  be  purchased:  without  pains  and 
labor. 

8.  The  gods  have  set  a  price  upon  every  real  and  no- 
ble pleasure.     If  you  would  gain  the  favor  of  the  Deity, 
you  must  be  at  the   pains  of  worshipping  him  ;  if  the 
friendship  of  good  men,  you  must  study  to  oblige  them; 
if  you  would  be  honored  by  your  country,  you  must  take 
care  to  serve  it*     In  short,  if  you  would  be  eminent  in  war 
or  peace,  you  must   become  master  of  all  the  qualifica- 
tions that  can  make  you  so.     These  are  the  only  terms 
and  conditions  upon  which  I  can  propose  happiness.    The 
goddess  of  pleasure  here  br  ke  in  upon  her  discourse  : 

9.  You  see,  said  she,  Hercules,  by  her  own  confession^ 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  14 f 

the  way  to  her  pleasure  is  long  and  difficult,  whereas 
that  which  I  propose  is  short  and  easy*.  Alas  !  said  the 
other  lady,  whose  visage  glowed  with  a  passion  made  up 
of  scorn  and  pity,  what  are  the  pleasures  you  propose  ? 
To  eat  before  you  are  hungry,  drink  before  you  are  thirs- 
ty, sleep  before  you  are  tired,  to  gratify  appetites  before 
they  are  raised,  and  raise  such  appetites  as  nature  never 
.planted. 

10.  You  never  heard  the  most  delicious  music,  whicb'is 
the  praise  of  one's  self ;  nor  saw  the  most  beautiful  object, 
which  is  the  work  of  one's  own  hands.     Your  votaries, 
pass  away  their  youth  in  a  dream  of  mistaken  pleasures) 
\vhile  they  are  hoarding  up  anguish,  torment,  and  remorse 
for  old  age* 

1 1.  As  for  me,  I  am  a  friend  of  the   gods  and  of  good 
men,  an  agreeable  companion  to  the  artisan,  a  household 
guardian  to  the  fathers  of  families,  a  patron  and  protector 
of  servants,  an  associate  in  all  true  and  generous  friend- 
ships.    The  banquets  of  my  votaries  are  never  costly,  but 
always  delicious  ;  for  none  eat  or  drink  at  them  who  are 
not  invited  by   hunger  and  thirst.     Their  slumbers  are 
sound,  and  their  wakings  cheerful. 

12.  My  young  men  have  the  pleasure  of  hearing  them- 
selves praised  by   those  who  are  in  years,  and  those  who 
are  in  years,  of  being  honored  by  those  who  are  ycimg. 
In   a  word,  rny  folio wers    are  favored  by  the  gods,  be- 
loved  by  their  acquaintance,    esteemed  by   their  co^n- 
try,  and  after  the  close  of  their  labors,  honored  by  pos- 
terity. 

13.  We  know  by  the   life  of  this  memorable  hero,  to 
which  of  these  two  ladies   he  gave  up  his  heart  ;  and  I 
believe,  every  one  who  reads  this,  will  do  him  the  justice 
to  approve  his  choice. 

14.  I  very  much   admire  the  speeches  of  these  ladies, 
as  containing  in  them  the  chief  arguments  for  a  life  of  vir- 
tue, or  a  life  of  pleasure,  that  could  enter  into  the  thoughts 
of  an  heathen-:  but  am  particularly  pleased  with  the  dif- 
ferent figures  he  gives  the  two  goddesses.     Our  modern 
authors  have  represented  pleasure  or  vice  with  an  alluring 
face,  but  ending  in  snakes  and  monsters  :  here  she  appears 
in  all  the  charms  of  beauty,  though  they  are   all  false  and 
borrowed  ;  and  by  that  means  composes  a  vision  entirely 
natural  and  pleasing. 


142       The  Young  ~  Gentleman  and  La  fly1  a  MONITOR, 

15.  I   have  translated  this  allegory  for  the  benefit  of 
the  youth  in  general  ;  and  particularly  of  those  Who  are 
still  in  the  deplorable  state  of  non-existence,  and  \vhom  I 
most  earnestly  intreat  to  come  into  the  world.     Let  my 
embryos  show  the  least  inclination  to  any  single  virtue, 
and  I  shall  allow  it  to  be  a  struggling  towards  birth, 

16.  I  do  not  expect  of  them  thaClike  the  hero  in  the 
foregoing  story,  they  should  go  about  as  soon  as  they  are 
born,  with  a  club  in  their  hands,   and  a  lion's  skin  on  their 
shoulders,  to  root  out  monsters  and  destroy  tyrants  ;  but 
as  the  finest  author  of  all  antiquity  has  said  upon  this  veryr 
occasion,  though  a  man  has  not  the  abilities  to  distinguish 
himself  in  the  most  shining  parts  of  a  great  character,  he 
has  certainly  the  capacity  of  being  just,  faithful,  tnoc3est5 
and  temperate. 


Virtue  rewarded  ;  the  History  of  Amanda, 

SPECTATOR,  NO,  375,- 

1.  TT  HAVE  more  than  once  had  occasion  to  mention  a 
JL  noble  saying  of  Seneca  the  philosopher,  that  a  virtu- 
ous person  struggling  with  misfortunes,  and  rising  above 
them,  is  an  object  on  which  the  gods  themselves  may  look 
down  with  delight.  I  shall  therefore  set  before  my  reader 
a  scene  of  this  kind  of  distress  in  private  life,  for  the  specu- 
lation of  this  day. 

2.  An  eminent  citizen,  who   had'Hved  in  good  fashion 
and  credit,  was  by  a  train  of  accidents,  and  by  an  unavoid- 
able perplexity  in  his  affrrs,  reduced  to  a  low  condition. 
There  is  a  modesty   usually  attending  faultless    poverty, 
which  made  him  rather  chuse  to  reduce  his  manner  of  liv- 
ing to  his  present  circumstances,  than  solicit  his  friends, 
in  order  to  support  the  show  of  an  estate,  when  the  sub*- 
stance  was  gone. 

3.  His  wife  who  was  a  woman  of  sense  and  virtue, 
behaved  herself  on  this  occasion  witn  uncommon  decency, 
and  never  appeared  so  amiable  in  his  eyes  as  now.     In- 
stead of  upbraiding  him  with  the  ample  fortune  she  had 
brought,  or  the  many  great  offers  she  had  refused  for  his 
sake,   she,  redoubled  all  the  instances  of  her •  affection- 


and  English  Teacher's  As  s  i  s  T  A  x  T  .  J  4  3 

while  her  husband  was  continually  pouring  out  his  heart 
to  her  in  complaints,  that  he  had  ruined  the  best  woman 
in  the  world. 

4.  He  sometimes  came  home  at  a  time  when  she  did 
not  expect  him,  and  surprised  her  in  tears  which  she  en- 
deavored to  conceal,  and  always  put  on  an  air  of  cheerful- 
ness to  receive  him.    To  lessen  their  expense,  their  eldest 
daughter  (whom  I  shall  call  Amanda)  was  sent  into  the 
country,  to  the  house  of  an  honest  farmer,  who  had  mar- 
ried a  servant  of  the  family  :  This  young  woman  was 
apprehensive  of  the  ruin  which  was  approaching,  and  had 
privately  engaged  a  friend  in    the  neighborhood  to  give 
her  an  account  of  what  passed  from  time  to  time  in  her 
father's  affairs. 

5.  Amanda  was  in  the  bloom  of  her  youth  and  beauty, 
when  the  lord   of  the  manor,  who  often   called  in  at  the 
farmer's  house  as  he  followed  his  country  sports,  fell  pas- 
sionately in  love  with  her.     He  was  a  man  of  great  gene- 
rosity, but  from  a  loose  education  had  contracted  a  hearty 
aversion  to  marriage.     He  therefore  entertained  a  design 
upon  Amanda's  virtue,  which  at  present  he  thought  fit  to 
keep  private.    The  innocent  creature,  who  never  suspect- 
ed his  intentions,  was  pleased  with  his  person  ;  and  hav- 
ing observed  his  growing  passion  for  her,  hoped  by  so  ad- 
vantageous a  match  she  might  quickly  be  in  a  capacity  of 
supporting  her  impoverished  relations. 

6.  One  day  as  he  called  to  see  her,  he  found  her  in  tears 
over  a  letter  she  had  just  received  from  her  friend,  which 
gave  an  account  that  her  father  had  been  lately  stript  of 
every  thing  by  an  execution.     The  lover,  who  with  some 
difficulty  found  out  the  cause  of  her  grief,  took  this  occa- 
con  to  make  her  a  proposal.     It  is  impossible  to  express 
Amanda'F    -^n fusion  v:hen  she  found  his  pretensions  were 
not  hone;   ''  <e. 

7.  S1     was  now  deserted  of  all  hopes,  and  had  no  pow.- 
er  to     \  tk  ;  but  rushing  from  him  in  the  utmost  distur- 
ban<        locked  herself  up  in  her  chamber.     He  immedi- 
ate-   v  ispatche.d  a  messenger  to  her  father  with  the  folr 
3ov     g  letter. 

4  SIR, 

1    HAVE    heard  of    your  misfortune,  and  have    of- 
JL  ft  red  your  daughter,  if  she  will  live  with  «u;,  to  settle 


144      The  Young1  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

on  her  four  hundred  pounds  a  year,  and  to  lay  down  t!ie 
sum  for  which  you  are  now  distressed.  I  will  be  so  ingen- 
uous as  to  tell  you,  that  I  do  not  intend  marriage  :  but  if 
you  are  wise,  you  will  use  your  authority  with  her  not  to 
be  too  nice,  when  she  has  an  opportunity  of  saving  you 
and  your  family,  and  of  making  herself  happy. 

4  lam.  See.' 

9.  This  letter  came  to  the  hands  of  Amanda's  mother  f. 
she  opened  and  read  it  with  great  surprise  and  concern. 
She  did  not  think  it  proper  to  explain  herself  to  the  mes- 
senger ;  but  desiring  him  to  call  again  the  next  morning, 
she  wrote  her  daughter  as  follows : 

10.  <  Dearest  Child, 

*  "^iT'OUR  father  and  I  have  just  now  received  a  letter 
JL  from  a  gentleman  who  pretends  love  to  you,  with 
a  proposal  that  insults  our  misfortunes,  and  would  throw 
us  to  a  lower  degree  of  misery  than  any  thing  which  is 
come  upon  us.  How  could  this  barbarous  man  think  that 
the  tendere&t  of  parents  would  be  tempted  to  supply  their 
wants  by  giving  up  the  best  of  children  to  infamy  and  ru- 
in !  It  is  a  mean  and  cruel  artifice  to  make  this  proposal 
»vt  a  time  when  he  thinks  our  necessities  mut>t  compel  us 
to  any  thing  ;  but  we  will  not  eat  the  bread  of  shame  ;  and 
therefore  we  charge  thee  not  to  think  of  us,  but  to  avoid 
the  snare  which  is  laid  for  thy  virtue.  Beware  of  pitying 
ys  :  it  is  not  so  bad  as  yon  have  perhaps  been  told.  All 
things  will  yet  be  well,  and  I  shall  write  my  child  better 
news. 

<  1  have  been  interrupted.  I  know  not  how  I  was  mov- 
ed to  say  things  would  mend.  As  I  was  going  on  I  was 
startled  by  the  noise  of  one  that  knocked  at  the  door,  inul 
had  brought  ns  an  unexpected  supply  of  a  debt  which 
hadjlong  been  owing.  Oh  !  I  will  novv  tell  thee  all.  It 
is  some  days  I  have  lived  almost  without  support,  having 
conveyed  what  little  money  I  could  raise  to  your  poor 
father.  Thou  wilt  weep  to  think  where  he  is,  yet  be  as- 
sured he  will  soon  be  at  liberty.  That  cruel  letter  would 
have  broke  his  heart,  but  I  have  concealed  it  from  him, 
I  have  no  companion  at  present  besides  little  Fanny, 
who  stands  watching  my  looks  as  I  write-,  and  is  < Ty- 
ing for  her  sister  ;  she  saysisKc  is  sure  you  arc  not  well* 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  145 

having  discovered  that  my  present  trouble  is  about  you. 
But  do  not  think  I  would  thus  repeat  my  sorrows  to  grieve 
thee.  No,  it  is  to  intreat  thee  not  to  make  them  insup- 
portable, by  adding  what  would  be  worse  than  all.  Let 
us  bear  cheerfully  an  affliction  which  we  have  not  brought} 
on  ourselves,  and  remember  there  is  a  Power  who  can 
better  deliver  us  out  of  it,  than  by  the  loss  of  thy  inno- 
.tence.  Heaven  preserve  my  dear  child. 


Thy  affectionate  mother  - 


11.  The  messenger,  notwithstanding  he  promised  to 
deliver  this  letter  to  Amanda,  carried  it  first  to  his  master, 
-•vho  he  imagined,  would  be  glad  to  have  an  opportunity 
or  giving  it  into  her  hands  himself.     His  master  was  ini- 

•patient  to  know  the  success  of  his  proposal,  and  therefore 
I !  oke  open  the  letter  privately,  to  see  the  contents. 

12.  He   was  not  a  little  moved  at  so  true  a  picture  of 
'virtue  in  distress  :  but  at  the  same  time  was  infinitely  sur- 
prised to  find  his  offers  rejected.     However,  he  'resolved 
Lot  to  suppress  the  letter,  but  carefully  sealed  it  up  a^aio- 
.and  carried  it  to  Amanda.     All  his  endeavors  to  ste  her 
-were  in  vain,  till  she  was  assured  he  brought  a  letter  from 
her  mother.     Pie  would  not  part  with  it  but  upon  oondi- 
-tion  that  she  would  read  it  without  leaving  the  room. 

13.  While  she  was  perusing  it,  he  fixed  his  eyes  on  her 
.face  with  the  deepest  attention  ;  her  concern  gave  a  new 
softness  to  her  beauty,   and  when  she  burst  into  tears,  he- 
could  no  longer  refrain  from  bearing  a  part  in  her  sorrow, 
and  telling  her,  that  he  too  had  read  the  letter,  and  was 
resolved  to  make  reparation  for  having  been  the  occasion 
of  it.     My  reader  will  not  be  displeased  to  see  the  second 
epistle  which  heiJtnv  wrote  to  Amanda's  mother. 

<  MADAM, 

I  AM  full  of  shame,  and  will  never  forgive  myself,  if 
I   have  not  your  pardon   for  what   I   ktely   vrrota. 
It  was  far  from  my  intention  to  add  trouble  to  the  af:!Id- 
cd  ;  nor  •could  any  thing  but  my  being  a  stranger  to  you-, 
have  betrayed   me  into  a  fault,  for  which,  if  I  live,  I  shail 
endeavor  to  make  you  amends  as  a  son.     You  cannot 
•      N 


The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady *s  MONITOR 5 

he  unhappy  while  Amanda  is  your  daughter  :  nor   shall 
be,  if  any  thing  can  prevent  it,  which  is  in  the  power  of, 

MADAM, 
Your  obedient  humble  Servant  — ,' 

14.  This  letter  he  sent  by  his  steward,  and  soon  after 
ivent  up  to  town  himself  to  complete  the  generous  act  he 
had  now  resolved  on.  By  his  friendship  and  assistance^ 
Amanda's  father  was  quickly  in  a  condition  of  retrieving 
his  perplexed  affairs.  To  conclude  he  married  Amanda, 
coid  enjoyed  the  double  satisfaction  of  having  restored  a 
•worthy  family  to  their  former  prosperity,  and  of  making 
himself  happy  by  an  alliance  to  their  virtues. 


The  Story  of  Abdallah and  Bakora. 

GUARPXAN,  NO.  167. 

"i.'nr^HE  following  story  is  lately  translated  out  of  an 
JL  Arabian  manuscript,  which  1  think  has  very 
much  the  turn  of  an  oriental  tale  ;  and  as  it  has  never  be- 
fore been  printed,  I  question  not  but  it  will  be  highly 
acceptable  to  my  reader. 

2.  The  name  of  Helim  is  Btill  famous  through  all  the 
eastern  parts  of  the  world.     He  is  called  among  the  Per- 
sians, even  to  this  day,   Helim  the  great  physician.     He 
rras  acquainted  with  all  the  powers  of  simples,  understood 
all  the  influences  of  the  stars,  and  knew  the  secrets  that 
were  engraved  on  the  seal  of  Solomon  the   son  of  David. 
Helim  was  also  governor  of  the  Black  Palace,  and  chief 
of  the  physicians  to  Alnareschin  the  great  king  of  Persia. 

3.  Alnareschin  was  the  most  dreadful  tyrant  that  ever 
reigned  in  this  country.     He  was  of  a  fearful,  suspicious 
and  cruel  nature,    having  put  to  death,   upon  very 
jealousies  and  surmises,  live  and  thirty  of  his  quetv 
above  twenty  sons  whom  he  suspected  to  have  co: 
against  his  life.     Being  at  length  weaned  with  the  exer- 
cise of  so  many   cruelties   in  his  own  family,  and  : 

lest  the  whole  race  of  Caliphs  should  be  entirely  lo 
one  day  sent   for   Heiim,  mid    spoke    to   ; 
manner. 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT. 

4.  *  Helim,'    said  he,  c  I  have   long  admired  thy 
wisdom,  and  retired  way  of  living.     I    shall  now  show 
thee  the  entire  confidence  which  I  place  in  thee.     I  have 
only  two  sons  remaining,  who  are  as  yet   but  inf/r.v;:  , 
It  is  my  design  that  thou  take  them  home  with  thee,  r,r  ;1 
educate  them  as  thy  own.     Train  them  up  in  t: 
unambitious  pursuits  of  knowledge.     By  tl 

the  lin?  of  Caliphs  be  preserved,  and  my  children  suc- 
ceed after  me,  without  aspiring  to  my  throne  whilst  I  am 
yet  alive.' 

5.  The  words  of  my  lord  the  king  shall   be  c': 

said   Helim.     After  which   he  bowed  and    went    out  of 

the  king's  presence.     He  then  received  the  chii 

his  own  house,  and  from  that  time  bred  them  up  v;uh  hira 

in  the  studies  of  knowledge  and  virtue.     The  y  •- 

ces  loved  and  respected  Helim  as  their  father,  and  rcado 

such   improvements  under  him,  that  by  the 

and  twenty  they  were  instructed  in  all  the  learning  of  the 

east. 

6.  The  name  of  the  eldest  v/as  Ibrahim, 
youngest  Abdallah.    They  lived  together  in  sue. 
friendship  that   to   this  day   it  is  said  of  intiir. 
that  they  live  together  like  Ibrahim  and  Abdallah.   I 

had  an  only  child,  who  was  a  girl  of  a  fine  soul,  and  a 
most  beautiful  person.  Her  father  omitted  nothing  in 
her  education,  that  might  make  her  the  most  accomplish- 
ed  woman  of  her  age. 

7.  As  the  young  princes  were  in   a   manner  excluded 
from  the  rest  of  the  world,  they  frequently  conversed  with 
this  lovely  virgin,  who  had  been  brought  up  by  her  father 
in  the  same  course  of  knowledge  and  of  virtue. 

8.  Abdallah,  whose    mind   was  of  a  softer  turn   than 
that  of  his  brother,  grew  by  degrees  so  enamored  of  her 
conversation,  that  he  did  not  think  he  lived,  when  he  was 
r,ot  in  company  with  his  beloved  Balsora,   for  that  was 
the  name  of  the  maid.     The  fame  of  her  beauty  was  so 
y;roat,  that  at  length  it  came  to  the  ears  of  the  king,  who, 
pretending  to  visit  the  young  princes  his  sons,  demanded 
of  Helim  the  sight  of  Balsora  his  fair  daughter. 

9-  The  king  was  so  enframed  with  her  beauty  and  be- 
havior, that  he  sent  for  Helim  the  next  morning,  and 
told  him  it  was  now  his  design  to  recompence  him  for  all 


MS       The  Young  Gentlemen  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

his  faithful  services  ;  and  that  in  order  to  it,  he  intended 
to  make  his  daughter  queen  of  Persia. 

10.  Helim,  \vho  knew  very  well  the  fate  of  all  those 
unhappy  women  who  had  been  thus  advanced,  and  could 
not  but  be  privy  to  the  secret  love  which  Abdallah  bore 
his  daughter  ;  <  Far  be  it,'   says  he,   '  from  the  king  of 
Persia  to  contaminate  the  blood  of  the  Caliphs,  and  join 
himself  in  marriage  with  the  daughter  of  his  physician.' 

11.  The  king  however,  was  so  impatient  for  such  a 
bride,  that  without  hearing  any  excuses,  he  immediately 
ordered  Balsora  to  be  sent  for  into  his  presence,  keeping 
the  father  with  him  in  order  to  make  her  sensible  of  the 
honor  which  he   designed.     Balsora,  who  was  too  modest 
and  humble  to  think  her  beauty  had  made  such  an  im- 
pression on  the  king>   was  a  few  moments  after  brought 
into  his  presence  as  he  had  commanded. 

12.  She  appeared  in  the  king's  eye  as  one  of  the  vir- 
gins-  of  paradise.     But  upon   hearing  the  honor  which 
lie  intended  her,  she  fainted  away  and  fell  down  as  dead 
at  his  feet.     Helim  wept,   and  after  having  lecovered  her 
out  of  the  trance  into  which  she  was  fallen,  represented  to 
the  king  that  so  unexpected  an   honor  was  too  great  to 
have   been   communicated  to  her  all   at  once  ;  but  that, 
if  he  pleased)  he  would  himself  prepare  her  for  it.     The 
king  bid  him  take  his  own  way  and  dismissed  hi  nit 

13.  Balsora  was  conveyed  again  to  her  father's  house, 
where  the  thoughts  of  Abdallah    renewed  her  affliction 
every   moment  ;  insomuch    that  at  length  she   fell  into  a 
raging  fever.     The  king  was  informed  of  her  condition 
by  those  that  saw  her.     Helim  finding  no  other  means  of 
extricating  her  from  the  difficulties  she  was  in,  after  hav- 
ing composed  her  mind,   and   raad-e  her  acquainted  with 
his  intentions,  gave  her  a  certain  potion,   which  he  knew 
"would  lay  her  asleep  for  many    hours  ;   and  afterward,  in 
all  the  seeming  distress  of  a  disconsolate  father,  informed, 
the  king  she  was  dead. 

14.  The   king,   who  never  let   any  sentiments  of  hu- 
manity come  too  near  his  heart,   did  not   much   trouble 
himself  about  the  matter  ;  however,   for  his  own  icputa- 
tion,  he  told  the  father,   that  since  it  was  known  through 
the  empire  that  Bulsora  died,  at  a  time  when  he  cbsignedf 
ker-  for  his  bride,  it  was  his  intention  that  she  should  b# 


tind  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  149 

honored  as  such  after  her  death,  that  her  body  should  be 
laid   in  the  black  palace,  among  those  of  his  o 
queens. 

15.  In  the  mean  time  Abdallah,  who  had  heard  of  the 
king's  design,  was  not  less  afflicted  than  his  beloved  Bal- 
sora.     As  for  the  several  circumstances  of  his  distress,  as 
also  how  the  king*  was  informed  of  an  irrecoverable  dis- 
temper into  which  he  was  fallen,  they  are  to  be  found  at 
length  in  the  History  of  Ilelhn. 

1 6.  It  shall  suffice  to  acquaint  the  reader,  that  Helim, 
some  days  after  the  supposed  death  of  his  daughter,  gave 
the  prince  a  potion  of  the  same  nature  with  which,  he  had 
laid  asleep  Balsora. 

17.  It  is  the  custom  among  the  Persians,  to  convey  in 
a  private  manner  the  bodies  of  all  the  royal  family  a  little 
after  their  death  into  the  black  palace  ;  which  is  the  repos- 
itory of  all  who  are  descended  from  the  Caliphs,  or  any 
way  allied  to  them..     The  chief  physician  is  always  gov- 
ernor of  the  black  palace  ;  it  being  his  office  to  embalm 
and  preserve  the  holy  family  after  they  are  dead,  as  well 
as  to  take  care  of  them  while  they  are  yet  living. 

18.  The  black  palace  is  so  called   from  the  color  of  the 
building,  which  is  all  of  the  finest  polished  black  marble- 
There  are  ahvays  burning  in  it  five   thousand  everlasting 
lumps.     It  has  also  an  hundred  folding  doors  of  ebony, 
which  are  each  of  them  watched  clay  and  night  ; 

dred  negroes,  who  are    to  take  care   thi\t  nob. 
;>ies  the  governor. 

19.  Helim,    after   having  conveyed 

daughter  into  this  repository,  and  at  the  appointed  time 
received  her  out  of  the  sleep  into  which  she  was  fallen, 
took  care  some  time  after  to  bring  that  of  Abdallah  into 
the  same  place.     Balsora  watched  ovtr  him  tiil  sue/ 
as  the   cloze  he  had  taken  lost  its  ciT 
Acquainted  with  Helim's  tic: 
rleepy  potion. 

It  is  impossible  to  describe,  th  ; 
the  tarnsport  he  was  in  at  his  first 
himself  in  the  retirement  of  the  blest,   and  thai  . 
of  his  dear  Balscra,  v/ho  he  thought  was  just  gene  before 
the  first  who  came  to  conpratu; 
N    2 


150      The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady 's  MONITOR, 

She  soon  informed  him  of  the  place  he  was  in,  which* 
notwithstanding  all  its  horrors,  appeared  to  him  more 
sweet  than  the  bower  of  Mahomet,  in  the  company  of 
his  Balsora. 

2 1 .  Helim,  who  was  supposed  to  be  taken  up  in  the 
embalming  of  the  bodies,  visited  the  place  very  frequent- 
ly.    His  greatest  perplexity  was  how  to  get  the  lovers  out 
of  it,  the  gates  being  watched  in  such  a  manner  as  I  have 
before  related.     This  consideration  did  not  a  little  disturb 
the  two  interred  lovers. 

22.  At  length  Helim  bethought  himself,  that  the  first 
day  of  the  full   moon  of  the  month  Tizpa  was  near  at 
hand.     Now,  it  is   a  received  tradition   among  the  Per- 
sians, that  the  souls  of  those  of  the  royal  family,  who  are 
in  a  state  of  bliss,  do  on  the  first  full  moon  after  their  de- 
cease, pass  through  the  eastern  gate  of  the  black  palace, 
which  is  therefore  called  the  Gate  of  Paradise,  in  order  to 
take  their  flight  for  that  happy  place. 

23.  Helim,  therefore,  having   made  due  preparations 
for  tb's  night,  dressed  each  of  the  lovers  in  a  robe  of  azure 
silk,  wrought  in  the   finest  looms  of  Persia,  with  a  long 
train  of  linen  whiter  than  snow,  that  flowed  on  the  ground 
behind  them.     Upon   Abdallah's  head  he  fixed  a  wreath 
of  the  greenest  myrtle,  and  on  Balsora's  a  garland  of  the 
freshest  roses.     Their  garments  were  scented   with  the. 
richest  perfumes  of  Arabia. 

24.  Having  thus  prepared  every  thing,  the  full  moon 
was  lio  sooner  up,  and  shining  in  all  its  brightness,  but  hs 
privately  opened  the  Gate  of  Paradise,  and  shut  it  after  ths 
same  manner,  as  soon  as  they  had  passed  through  it. 

25.  The  band  of  negroes  who  were  posted  at  a  little 
distance  from  the  gate,  seeing  two  such  beautiful  appari- 
tions, that  showed  themselves  to  advantage  by  the  light  of 
the  full  moon,  and  being  ravished  with  the  odor  that  flow- 
ed from  their  garments,  immediately  concluded  them  t3 
be  the  ghosts  of  the  two  persons  lately  deceased, 

26.  They  fell  upon  their  faces  as  they  passed  through 
the  midst  of  them,  and  continued  prostrate  on  the  earth 
until  such  time  as  they  were  out  of  sight.     They  reported 
the  next  day  what  they  had  seen,  but  this  was  looked  upon 
by  the  king  himself,  and  most  others,  as  the  compliment 
that  was  usually  paid  to  any  of  the  deceased  of  his  family- 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  jt£l 

27.  Helim  had  placed  two  of  his  own  mules  at  about  a 
mile's  distance  from  the  black  temple,  on  the  spot  which 
they  had  agreed  upon  for  their  rendezvous.     Here  he  met 
them,  and  conducted  them  to  one  of  bis  own  houses,  which 
was  situated  on  mount  Khacan. 

28.  The   air  of  this  mountain  was  so  very  healthful* 
that  Helim  had  formerly  transported  the  king  thither,  in 
order  to  recover  him  out  of  a  long  fit  of  sickness,  which 
succeeded  so  well,  that  the  king  made  him  a  present  of  the 
whole  mountain,  with  a  beautiful  house  and  garden  that 
were  on  the  top  of  it. 

29.  In  this   retirement   lived    Abdallah  and   Balsora* 
They  were  both  so  fraught  with  all  kinds  of  knowledge 
and  possest  with  so  constant  and  mutual  a  passion  for  each 
other,  that  their  solitude  never  lay  heavy,  on  them. 

30.  Abdallah  applied  himself  to  those  arts  which  were 
agreeable  to  his  manner  of  living,  and  the  situation  of  the 
place  :  insomuch  that  in   a   few  years  he  converted  the 
whole  mountain  into  a  kind  of  garden,  and  covered  every, 
part  of  it  with  plantations  or  spots  of  flowers. 

Helim  was  too  good  a  father  to  let  him  want  any  thing 
that  might  conduce  to  make  his  retirement  pleasant.. 

31.  In   about  ten  years  after  their  abode  in  this  place> 
the  old  king  died,  and  was  succeeded  by  his  son  Ibrahim, 
who,  upon   the  supposed  death  of  his  brother,  had  been 
called  to  court,  and  entertained  there  as  heir  to  the  Per- 
sian empire.     Though  he  was  some  years  inconsolable 
for  the  death  of  his  brother,   Helim  durst  not  trust  him 
with  the   secret,  which   he  knew  would  have  fatal  conse- 
quences, should  it  by  any  means  come  to  the  knowledge 
of  the  old  king, 

32.  Ibrahim  was  no  sooner  mounted  to  the  throne,  but 
Helim  sought  after  a  proper  opportunity  of  making  a  dis- 
covery to  him,  which  he  knew  would  be  very  agreeable  te> 
so  good  natured  and  generous  a  prince*     It  so  happened, 
that  before  Helim  found  such  an  opportunity  as  he  desir- 
ed, the  new  king  Ibrahim,  having  been  separated  from 
his  company  in  a  chace,  and  almost  fainting  with  heat  and 
thirst,  saw  himself  at  the  foot  of  mount  Khacan.     He  im- 
mediately ascended  the  hill,  and  coming  to  Heiim's  house, 
demanded  some  refreshments/ 

33.  Helim  was  very  luckily  there  at  that  time  ;  and 


162       The  Young  Gentleman  and  Ladifs  MONITOR, 

after  having  set  before  the  king  the  choicest  of  wines  and 
fruits,  finding  him  wonderfully  pleased  with  so  seasonable 
a  treat,  told  him  that  the  best  part  of  his  entertainment 
\vas  to  come.  Upon  which  he  opened  to  him  the  whole 
history  of  what  had  passed.  The  king  was  at  once  aston- 
ished and  transported  at  so  strange  a  relation,  and  seeing 
his  brother  enter  the  room  with  Balsora  in  his  hand,  he 
leaped  off  from  the  sofa  on  which  he  sat,  and  cried  out, 
*  It  is  he  !  it  is  my  Abdallah*1  Having  said  this,  he  fell 
upon  his  neck  and  wept. 

34.  The  whole  company  for  some  time  remained  si- 
lent, and  shedding  tears  of  joy.     The  king  at  length   hav- 
ing kindly  reproached  Heiim  for  depriving  him  so  long  of 
such  a  brother,  embraced  Balsora  with  the  greatest  ten- 
derness, and  told  her  that  she    should  now   be  a  queen 
indeed,  for  that  he  would  immediately  make  his  brother 
king  of  all  the  conquered  nations  on  the  other  side  of  the 
Tigris. 

35.  He  easily  discovered  in  the  eyes  of  our  two  lovers, 
that  instead  of  being  transported  with  the  oiler,  they  pre- 
ferred, their  present  retirement  to   empire.     At  their  re- 
quest, therefore,  he  changed  his   intentions,  and  made 
them  a  present  of  all  the  open  country  as  far  as  they  could 
see  iVom  the  top  of  mount  Khacan. 

36.  Abdallah  continuing  to  extend  his  former  improve- 
ments, beautified    this   whole  prospect  v/ith   groves   and 
fountains,  gardens  and  seats  of  pleasure,  until  it  became 
the  most  delicious  spot  of  ground  within  the  empire,  an*! 
is  therefore  called  the  garden  of  Persia. 

37.  This    Caliph,   Ibrahim,   after  a  long    and  happy 
reign,  died  without  children,    and  was-  succeeded  by  Ab- 
dallah a  son  of  Abdallah  and  Balsora.    This  was  that  king 
Abdallah,   \vho   afterwards   fixed  the  imperial   residence 
upon  mount  Khacan,  which  continues  at  this  time  to  be 
the  favorite  palace  of  the  Persian  empire. 

On  Rashness  and  Cowardice. 

RAMBLER,  NO.  2 

1.  *  |  MI  ERE  are   some  vices  and  errors  which,   though 
JL     often    fatal  to  those   in  whom   they  arc    fei 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  153 

,  e  yet,  by  the  universal  consent  of  mankind,  been 
considered  as  entitled  to  some  degree  of  respect,  or  have, 
at  least  been  exempted  from  contemptuous  infamy,  and 
condemned  by  the  severest  moralists  with  pity  rather  than 
detestation. 

2.  A  constant  and   invariable  example  of  this   general 
partiality  will  be  found  in  the  different  regard  which  has 
always  been  shown  to  rashness  and  cowardice  ;  two  vices, 
of  which,  though  they   may  be  conceived  equally  distant 
from  the  middle  point,  where  true  fortitude  is  placed,  and 
may  equally  injure  any  public  or  private  interest,  yet  the 
one  is  never  mentioned  without  some  kind  of  veneration, 
and  the  other  always  considered  as  a  topic  of  unlimited 
and  licentious  censure,  on  which  all  the  virulence  of  re- 
proach may  be  lawfully  exerted. 

3.  The  same  distinction  is  made,  by  the  common  suf- 
frage, between  profusion  and  avarice,  and  perhaps  between 
many  other  opposite  vices  ;  and,  as  I  have  found  reason 
lo  pay  great  regard  to  the   voice  of  the  people,    in  cases 
where  knowledge  has  been  forced  upon  them  by  experi- 
ence,  without  long  deductions    or  deep  researches,  I  am 
inclined  to  believe  that  this  distribution  of  respect  is  not 
without  some  agreement  with  the  nature  of  things  ;  anel 
that  in  the  faults,  which  are  thus  invested  with  extraordi- 
nary privileges,  there  are  generally  some  latent  principles 
of  merit,  some  possibilities  of  future  virtue,  which  may  by 
degrees,  break  from  obstruction,  and  by  time  and  oppor- 
tunity be  brought  into  act. 

4.  It  may  be  laid  clown  as  an  axiom,  that  it  is  more  ea- 
sy to  take  away  superfluities  than  to  supply  defects  ;  and 
therefore,  he  that  is  culpable,  because  he  has  passed  the 
middle  point  of  virtue,  is  always  accounted  a  fairer  object 
of  hope,  that  he  who  fails  by  falling  short.     The  one  has 
all  that  perfection  requires,  and  more,  but  the  excess  may 
be   easily   retrenched  ;  the   other  wants  the   qualities  re- 
quisite to  excellence,  and  who  can  tell  how  he  shall  obtain 
them  ? 

5.  We  are  certain  that  the  horse  may  be  taught  to  keep 
pace  with  his   fellows,  whose    fault    it  is   that    he  leaves 
them   behind.     We   know   that  a  few  strokes  of  the  axe 
v<ill  lop  a  cedar  ;  but  what  arts  of  cultivation  can  elevate  a 
fehrub? 


154     The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

6.  To  walk  with  circumspection  and  steadiness  in  the 
right  path,    at  an   equal  distance  between  the  extremes 
of  error,   ought   to  he  the  constant  endeavor   of  every 
reasonable  being  ;  nor  can  I  think  those  teachers  of  moral 
wisdom  much   to  be  honored  as  benefactors  to  mankind^ 
who  are  always  enlarging  upon  the  difficulty  of  our  duties, 
and  providing  rather  excuses  for  vice,  than  incentives  to 
virtue. 

7.  But,  since  to  most  it  will  happen  often,  and  to  all 
sometimes,  that  there  will  be  a  deviation  towards  one  side 
or  the  other,  we  ought  always  to  employ  our  vigilance, 
with  most   attention,  on  that   enemy  from  which  there 
is  the  greatest  danger,  and  to  stray,  if  we   must  stray, 
towards  those  parts  from  whence  we  may  quickly  and  ea- 
sily return. 

8.  Among  other  opposite  qualities  of  the  mind,  which 
may  become  dangerous,  though  in  different  degrees,  I 
have  often  had  occasion  to  consider  the  contrary  effects  of 
presumption  and  despondency ;  of  steady  confidence,  which 
promises  a  victory  without  contest,  and  heartless  pusillani- 
mity, which  shrinks  back  from  the  thought  of  great  under- 
takings, confounds  difficulty  with  impossibility,  and  consid- 
ers all  advancement  towards  any  new  attainment,  as  irre- 
versibly prohibited. 

9.  Presumption  will  ae  sasily  corrected.     Every  expe- 
riment will  teach   caution,   and  miscarriages  will  hourly 
show,   that  attempts  are  not  always    reworded  with  suc- 
cess.     The    ir.sst    precipitate    ardor    will,  in    time,   be 
taught  the  necessity  of  methodical  gradation,  and  prepara- 
tory measures  ;   and  the  most  daring  conscience  be  con- 
vinced,  that   neither  merit,  nor  aliiitiec;,  c?.n  command 
events. 

10.  It  is  the  advantage  of  vehemence  and  activity,  that 
they  are  always  hastening  to  their  own  reformation  ;  be- 
cause they   incite  us  to   try  whether  our  expectations  are 
well  grounded  ;   and  therefore  detect  the  deceits   which 
they  are  apt  to  occasion.     But  timidity  is  a  disease  of  the 
mind  more  obstinate  and  fatal ;  for  a  man  once  persuaded, 
that  any  impediment  is  insuperable,  has  given  it,  with 
respect  to  himself,  that  strength  and  weight  which  it  had 
not  before. 


ttnd  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  155 

11.  He  can  scarcely  strive  with  vigor  and  persever* 
3i\ce,  when  he   has  no  hope  of  gaining  the  victory  ;  and 
since  he  will  never  try  his  strength,  can  never  discover 
the  unreasonableness  of  his  fears. 

12.  There  is  often  to  be   found  in  men  devoted  to  lite- 
rature, a  kind  of  intellectual  cowardice,  which   whoever 
converses  much  among  them,  may  observe  frequently  to 
depress  the  alacrity  of  enterprize,  and  by  consequence  to 
retard  the  improvement  .of  science. 

13.  They  have  annexed  to  every  species  of  knowledge 
some  chimerical  character  of  terror  and  inhibition,  which 
they  transmit,  without  much  reflection,  from  one  to  ano- 
ther ;  they  first  fright  themselves,  and  then  propagate  the 
panic  to  their  scholars  and  acquaintance. 

14.  One  study  is  inconsistent  with  a  lively  imagination, 
.  another  with   a  solid  judgment ;  one  is  improper  in  the 

early  parts  of  life,  another  requires  so  much  time,  that  it 
is  not  to  be  attempted  at  an  advanced  uge  ;  one  is  dry  and 
contracts  the  sentiments,  another  is  diffuse  and  over-bur- 
dens the  memory  ;  one  is  insufferable  to  tasle  and  delica- 
cy, uncl  another  wears  out  life  in  the  study  of  words,  and 
is  useless  to  a  wise  man,  who  desires  only  the  knowledge 
of  things. 

15.  But  of  all  the  bugbears  by   which  the  infantes  bar* 
hati,  boys  both  young  and  old,  have  been  hitherto  fright- 
ed from  digressing  into  new  tracts  of  learning,  none  has 
been  move  mischieviously  efficacious  than  an  opinion  that 
every  kind  of  knowledge  requires  a  peculiar  genius,  or 
mental   constitution,   framed  for  the  reception  of  some 
ideas  and  the  exclusion  of  others  ;  and  that  to  him  whose 
genius  is  not  adapted  to  the  study  which  he  prosecutes, 
all  labor  shall  be  vain  and  fruitless  :  vain   as  an    endea- 
vor to  mingle  oil  and  water,  or  in  the  language  of  chim* 
.estry,  to  amalgamate  bodies  of  heterogenous  principles. 

16.  This  opinion  we  may   reasonably  suspect  to  have 
•been  propagated  by  vanity,  beyond  the  truth.     It  is  nat- 

ihose  who  have  raised  a  reputation  by  any  sci- 
ence, to  exalt  themselves  as  endowed  by  heaven  with  pe- 
culiar powers,  or  marked  out  by  an  extraordinary  desig- 
nation for  their  profession  :•  and  *  petitors 

ay  by  representing-  the    dhT.-.  h  they 

i$t  contend,  and  the  necessity  of 


IM. 

oys. 


156     The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

supposed  to  be  not  generally  conferred,  and  whic 
acnan  can  know,  but  by  experience,  whether  he  enjoys 

17.  To  this  discouragement  it  may  possibly  be  answer- 
ed that  since  a  genius,  whatever  it  may  be,  is  like  fire  in 
the  flint,   only  to  be  produced  by  collision  with  a  proper 
subject,  it  is  the  business  of  every  man  to  try  whether  his 
faculties  may  not  happily  co-operate  with  his  desires  ;  and 
since  they  whose  proficiency  he  admires,  knew  their  owri 
force   only   by  the    event,  he  needs  but  engage  in  the 
same  undertaking,  with  equal  spirit,  and  may  reasonably 
hope  for  equal  success. 

18.  There  is  another  species  of  false  intelligence,  given 
Jby  those  who  profess  to  show  the  way  to  the  summit  of 
knowledge,  of  equal  tendency  to  depress  the  mind  with 
false  distrust  of  itself,  and  weaken  it  by  needless  solicitude 
and  dejection.     When  a  scholar  whom  they  desire  to  ani- 
mate,  consults  them  at  his  entrence  on  some  new  study, 
it  is   common  to    make  flattering  representations  of  its 
pleasantness  and  facility. 

19.  Thus  they  generally  attain    one  of  the  two  ends 
almost  equally  desirable  ;  they  either  incite  his  industry 
by  elevating  his  hopes,  or  produce  a  high  opinion  of  their 
own  abilities,  since  they  are  supposed  to  relate  only  what 
ihey  have  found,  and  to  have  proceeded  with  no  less  ease 
than  they  have  promised  to  their  followers. 

20.  The  student  enflamecl  by  this  encouragement,  sets 
forward  in  the  new   path,  and  proceeds  a  few  steps  with 
great   alacrity  ;   but   he    soon   finds   asperities   and  intri- 
cacies of  which   he   has  not  been  forewarned,  and  im- 
agining that  none  ever  were  so  entangled  or  fatigued  be- 
fore him,  sinks  suddenly  into  despair,  and  desists  as  from 
an  expedition    in   which    fate   opposes    him.     Thus   his 
terrors   are  multiplied  by   his  hopes,   and  he  is  defeated 
without  resistancej  because  he  had  no  expectation  of  an 
-enemy. 

21.  Of  these  treacherous  instructors,  the  one  destroys 
industry,  by  declaring  that  industry  is  vain,  the  other  by 
representing  it  as  needless  ;  the  one  cuts  away  the  root  of 
hope,  the  other  raises  it  only  to  be  blasted.     The  one  coa- 
f.ttes  his  pupil  to  the  shore  by  telXr.ghim  that  his  wreck 
is  certain;  the  other  sends  him  to  sea  without  preparing 
him  for  tempests. 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  157 

22.  False  hopes  and  false  terrors  are  equally  to  be 
avoided.  Every  man  who  purposes  to  grow  eminent  by 
learning,  should  carry  in  his  mind,  at  once,  the  difficulty 
of  exce'llence,  and  the  force  of  industry  ;  and  remember 
that  fame  is  not  conferred  but  as  the  recompence  of  labor, 
and  that  labor,  vigorously  continued,  has  not  often  failed 
-cf  its  reward. 


Fortitude  founded  upon  the  Fear  of  God. 

GUARDIAN,  No.  177. 

l.T  COKING  over  the  late  edition  of  Monsieur 
J  ^  Boileau's  works,  I  was  very  much  pleased  with 
the  article  which  he  has  added  to  his  notes  on  the  trans- 
lation of  Longinus.  He  there  tells  us,  that  the  sublime 
in  writing  rises  either  from  the  nobleness  of  the  thought, 
the  magnificence  of  the  words,  or  the  harmonious  and 
lively  turn  of  the  phrase,  and  that  the  perfect  sublime 
rises  from  all  these  three  in  conjunction  together.  He 
produces  an  instance  of  this  perfect  sublime  m  four  verses 
from  the  Athalia  of  Monsieur  Racine. 

2.  When  Abner,  one  of  the  chief  officers  of  the  court, 
represents  to  load  the  high-priest,  that  the  queen  was  in- 
censed against  him,  the  high-priest  not  in  the  least  terri- 
fied at  the  news,  returns  this  answer  : 

Celui  que  met  unfrein  a  lafureur  desjlots^ 

Scait  au&si  des  medians  arreter  les  complols  : 

Sounds  avec  respect  a  sa  volunte  saintc, 

Je  crains  Dieu,  cher  Abner ^  &c  n'ai  point  d  'autre  craintc. 

3.  <  He  who  ruleth  the  raging  of  the  sea,   knows  also 
how  to  check  the  designs  of  the  ungodly.     I  submit  my- 
self with  reverence  to  his  holy  will.     O  Abner!  I  fear 
my  God,  and  I  fear  none  but  him.'     Such  a  thought  gives 
no  less  a  solemnity  to  human  nature,  than  it  does  to  good 
writing. 

4.  This  religious  fear,  when  it  is  produced  by  just  ap- 
prehensions of  a  divine  power,  naturally  overlooks   all 
human  greatness  that  stands  in  competition  with  it,  and 

O 


158      The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

extinguishes  every  other  terror  that  can  settle  itself  in  the 
heart  of  a  man  :  it  lessens  and  contracts  the  figure  of  the 
most  exalted  person  :  it  disarms  the  tyrant  and  execu- 
tioner, and  represents  to  our  minds  the  most  enraged  and 
the  most  powerful,  as  altogether  harmless  and  impotent. 

5.  There  is  no  true  fortitude  which  is  not  founded  up- 
on this  fear,  as  there  is  no  other  principle  of  so  settled 
and  fixed  a  nature.     Courage  that  grows  from  constitu- 
tion very  often  forsakes  a  man  when  he  has  accasion  for 
it  ;  and   when  it  is  only   a  kind  of  instinct  in    the  soul 
breaks  out  on   all  occasions  without  judgment  or  discre- 
tion.    That  courage  which  proceeds  from  a  sense  of  our 
cuty,  and  from  a  fear  of  offending  him  that  made   us,  acts 
chvays  in  an  uniform  mariner  and  according  to  the  dictates 
cf  right  reason. 

6.  What  can  the  man  fear  who  takes  care  in  all  his 
actions  to  please  a  Being  that  is  omnipotent,  a  Being 
who  is  able  to  crush  all  his  adversaries,  a  Being  that  can 
divert  any   misfortune  from  befalling  him,  or   turn   any 
vu  :h  misfortune  to  his  advantage  ?  The  person  who  lives 
•,vkh  this  constant  and  habitual  regard  to  the  great  super- 
intendant  of  the  world,  is  indeed  sure  that  no  real  evil  can 
come  into  his  lot. 

7.  Blessings  may  appear  under  the  shape  of  pains,  los- 
ses and  disappointments,  but  let  him  have  patience,  and 
le  will  see  them  in  their  proper  figures.     Dangers  may 
threaten  him,  but  he  may  rest  satisfied  that  they  will  ei- 
ther not  reach  him,  or  that,  if  they  do,  they  will  be  the 
instruments  of  good  to  him.     In  short,  he  may  look  upon 
all  crosses  and  accidents,   sufferings  and  afflictions,   as 
means  which  are  made  use  of  to  bring  him  to  happiness. 

8.  This  is  even  the  worst  of  that  man's  condition  whose 
mind  is  possessed  with  the  habitual  fear  of  which  I  am  now 
speaking.     But  it  very  often  happens,   that  those  which 
appear  evils  in  our  own  eyes,  appear  also  as  such  to  him 
v/ho  has  human  nature  under  his  care,  in  which  case  they 
are  certainly  averted  from  the  person  who  has  made  him- 
self, by  this  virtue,  an  object  of  divine  favor. 

9.  Histories  are  full  of  instances  of  this  nature,  where 
men  of  virtue  have  had  extraordinary  escapes  out  of  such 
dangers  as  have  enclosed  them?  and  which  have  seemed 
inevitable. 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  159 

10.  There  is   no   example  of  this  kind  in  Pagan  his- 
tory  .which  more  pleases  me   than  that  which  is  recorded 
in  the  life  of  Timoleotu     This  extraordinary  man  was  fa- 
mous for  referring  all  his  successes  to  Providence.     Cor- 
nelius Nepos  acquaints  us  that  he  had  in  his  house  a  pri- 
vate chapel  in  which  he  used  to  pay  his  devotions  to  the 
goddess  who  represented  Providence  among  the  heathens. 
I  think  no  man  was  ever  more  distinguished  by  the  Deity, 
whom  he  hlindly  worshipped,  than  the  great  person  I  am 
speaking  of,  in  several  occurrences  of  his  life,  but  particu- 
larly in  the- following  one,   which  I  shall  relate  out  of 
Plutarch* 

11.  Three  persons  had  entered  into  a  conspiracy  to 
assassinate  Timoleon  as  he  was  offering  up  his  devotions 
in  a  certain  temple.     In  order  ^to   it  they   took  their  sev- 
eral stands  in  the  most  convenient  places  for  their  purpose* 
As  they  were  waiting  for  an  opportunity  to  put  their  de- 
sign in  execution,  a  stranger,  having  observed  one  of  the 
conspirators,  fell  upon  him  and  slew  him.     Upon  which 
the  other  two,  thinking  their  plot  had  been  discovered, 
threw  themselves  at  Timoleou's  feet,  and  confessed  the 
whole-  matter. 

12.  This   stranger,  upon   examination,  was  found  to 
have  understood  nothing  of  the  intended  assassination,  but 
having  several  years  before  had  a  brother  killed  by  the 
conspirator,  whom  he  here  put  to  death,   and  having  till 
now  sought  in  vain  for  an   opportunity  of  revenge,  he 
chanced  to  meet  the  murderer  in  the  temple,  who  had 
planted  himself  there  for  the  above  mentioned  purpose. 

13.  Plutarch  cannot  forbear,  on  this  occasion,  speaking 
with  a  kind   of  rapture  on  the  schemes  of  Providence, 
which,  in  this  particular,  had  so  contrived  it,   that  the 
stranger  should,  for  so  great  space  of  time,  be  debarred 
the  means  of  doing  justice  to  his  brother,  till,  by  the  same 
blow  that  revenged  the   death  of  one  innocent  man,   he 
preserved  the  life  of  another. 

14.  For  my  own  part,  I  cannot  wonder  that  a  man  of 
Timoleon's  religion  should  have  this  intrepidity  and  firm- 
ness of  mind,  or  that  he  should  be  distinguished  by  such 
a  deliverance  as  I  have  here  related* 


160       The  Young-  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR ? 

The  Felly  of  youthful  Extravagance. 

EAMBLER,  NO.  26. 

1.  TT  is  usual  for  mei>>  engaged  in  the  same  pursuits, 
JL  to  be  inquisitive  after  the  conduct  and  fortune  of 
each  other;  and  therefore,  I  suppose  it  will  not  be  un- 
pleasing  to  you,  to  read  an  account  of  the  various  changes 
which  have  appeared  in  part  of  a  life  devoted  to  litera- 
ture. My  narrative  will  not  exhibit  any  great  variety  of 
.events,  or  extraordinary  revolutions  ;  but  may  perhaps  be 
not  less  useful,  because  I  shall  relate  nothing  which  is  not 
likely  to  happen  to  a  thousand  others. 

2.  I  was  born  heir  to  a  very  small  fortune,  and  left  by 
my  father,  whom  I  cannot  remember,  to  the  care  of  an  un- 
,-de.     He  having  no  children,  always  treated  me  as  his 
son,  and  finding  in  me  those  qualities  which  old  men  easi- 
ly discover  in  sprightly  children  when  they  happen  to  love 
them,  declared  that  a  genius  like  mine   should  never  be 
lost  for  want  of  cultivation. 

3.  He  therefore  placed  me  for  the  usual  time  at  a  great 
school,  and  then  sent  me  to  the  university,  with  a  larger 
allowance  than  my  own  patrimony  would  have  afforded,. 
that  I  might  not  keep  mean  company,  but  learn  to  become 
rny  dignity  when   I  should  be   made  Lord  Chancellor, 
.which  he  often  lamented  that  the  increase  of  his  infirmi- 
ties, was  very  likely  to  preclude  him  from  seeing. 

4.  This  exuberance  of  money  displayed  itself  in  gaiety 
of  appearance,  and  wantonness  of  expense,  and  introduced 

.line  to  the  acquaintance  of  those  whom  the  same  super- 
fluity of  fortune  had  betrayed  to  the  same  licence  and 

..ostentation.:  young  heirs  who  pleased  themselves  with  a 
remark  very  frequently  in  their  months,  that  though  they 
w-re  sent  by  their  fathers  to  the  university,  they  were  not 

*  under  the  necessity  of  living  by  their  learning. 

It  5.:  Among  men  of  this  class  I  easily  obtained  the  repu- 
tation of  a  great  genius,  and  was  persuaded  that,  with 
s-ut  h  liveliness  of  imagination,  and  delicacy  of  sentiment) 
I  should  never  be  able  to  submit  to  the  drudgery  of  the 
law.  _  , 

6*  I  therefore  gave  myself  wholly  to  the  more  airy 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  16 1 

and  elegant  parts  of  learning,  and  was  often  so  much  elat- 
ed with  my  superiority  to  the  youths  with  whom  I  con- 
versed, that  I  began  to  listen,  with  great  attention,  to 
those  who  recommended  to  me  a  wider  and  more  conspic- 
uous theatre  ;  and  was  particularly  touched  with  an  ob- 
servation made  by  one  of  my  friends,  that  it  was  not  by 
lingering  in  the  university  that  Prior  became  ambassador, 
or  Addison  secretary  of  state. 

7.  This  desire  was  hourly  increased  by  the  solicitation 
of  my  companions,  who  removing  one  by  one  to  London, 
as  the  caprice  of  their  relations  allowed  them,  or  the  legal 
dismission   from  the  hands  of  their  guardians  put  it  in 
their  power,  never  failed  to  send  an  account  of  the  beauty 
and  felicity  of  the  new  world,   and  to  remonstrate  how 
much  was  lost  by  every  hour's  continuance  in  a  place  of 
retirement  and  constraint. 

8.  My  uncle,  in  the  mean    time,   frequently  harassed 
rne  with  monitory  letters,  which  I  sometimes  neglected 
to  open  for  a  week  after  I  received  them,   and  generally 
read  in  a  tavern  with  such  comments  as  might  show  how 
much  I  was  superior  to  instruction  or  advice.    I  could  not 
but  wonder,  how  a  man  confined  to  the  country,  and  un- 
acquainted with  the  present  system  of  things,  should  ima- 
gine himself  qualified  to  instruct  a  rising  genius,  born  to 
give  laws  to  the  age,  refine  its  taste,  and  multiply  its 
pleasures. 

9.  The  postman,  however,  still  continued  to  bring  me 
new  remonstrances  ;  for  my  uncle  was  very  little  depress- 
ed by  the  ridicule  and  reproach   which  he  never  heard. 
But  men  of  parts  have  quick  sentiments  ;  it  was  impossi- 
ble to  bear  its  usurpations  for  ever  ;  and  I  resolved,  once 
for  all,   to  make  him  an    example  to  those  who  imagine 
themselves  wise  because  they  are  old,  and  to  teach  young 
men,  who  are  too  tame  under  representation,  in  what  man- 
ner grey-bearded  insolence  ought  to  be  treated. 

10.  I  therefore  one  evening  took  my  pen  in   hand,  and 
after  having  animated  myself  with  a  catch,  wrote  a  general 
answer  to  all  his  precepts,  with  such  vivacity  of  turn,  such 
elegance  of  irony,    and  such   asperity  of  sarcasm,  that  I 
convulsed  a  large  company  with  universal  laughter,  dis* 
turbingthe  neighborhood  with  vociferations  of  applause, 

O2 


162"      Th$  Young-  G  en  tlemetn  and  Lady's  Mo  NIT  oir, 

and  five  days  afterwards  was  answered  that  I  must  be  COB*. 
tent  to  live  upon  my  own  estate. 

11.  This    contraction  of  my  income  gave  me  no  dis- 
turbance, for  a  genkis  like  mine  was  out  of  the  reach  of 
want.     I  had  friends  that  would  be  proud  to  open  their 
purses  at  my  call,  and  prospects  of  such  advancement  as 
would  soon  reconcile  my  uncle,  whom,  upon  mature  de- 
liberation, I  resolved  to  receive  into  favor,  without  insist- 
ing  on  any  acknowledgment  of  his  offence  when  the  splen- 
dor of  my  condition  should  induce  him  to  wish  for  my 
countenance* 

12.  I  therefore  went  up  to  London,  before  I  had  shown 
the  alteration  of  my  condition,  by  any  abatement  of  my 
way  of  living,  and  was  received  by  all  my  academical  ac- 
quaintance with  triumph  and  congratulation.     I  was  im- 
mediately introduced  among  the  wits  and  men  of  spir- 
it ;  and,  in  a  short    time,  had  divested  myself  of.  all  my 
scholar'c  gravity,  and  obtained  the  reputation  of  a  pretty 
fellow. 

IS.  You  will  easily  believe  that  I  had  no  great  knowK 
edge  of  the  world  ;  yet  I  had  been  hindered,  by  the  gen- 
eral disinclination  every  man  feels  to  confess  poverty, 
from  telling  to  any  one  the  resolution  of  rny  uncle,  and 
some  time  subsisted  upon  the  stock  of  money  which  I  had 
brought  with  me,  and  contributed  my  share  as  before  to  all 
our  entertainments.  But  my  pocket  was  soon  emptied? 
and  I  was  obliged  to  ask  my  friends  for  a  small  sum. 

14.  This  was  a  favor  which  we  had  often  reciprocally 
Teceived  from  one  another  :  they  supposed  my  wants  only 
accidental,  and  therefore  willingly  supplied  them.    In  a 
short  time,  I  fountl  a  necessity  of  asking  again,  and  was 
again  treated   with  the  same  civility  ;  but  the  third  time 
they  began  to  wonder  what  that  old  rogue  my  uncle  could 
mean  by  sending  a  gentleman  to  town  without  money  ; 
and  when  they  gave  me  what  I  asked  for,  advised  me  to 
stipulate  for  more  regular  remittances. 

15.  This  somewhat  disturbed  my  dream  of  constant  af- 
fluence, but  I  was  three  days  after  completely  awaked  : 
for  entering  the  tavern,  where  we  met  every  evening, 
I  found  the  \vaiters  remitted  their  complaisance,  and  in- 
stead of  contending  to  light  me  up  stairs,  Buffered  tne  to 
wait  for  some  minutes  by  the  bar* 


nnd  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  163 

16.  When  I  came  to  my  company  I  found  them  unu- 
sually grave  and  formal,  and  one  of  them  took  a  hint  to 
turn  the  conversation  upon  the  misconduct  of  young-  men, 
and  enlarged  upon  the  folly  of  frequenting  the  company 
of  men  of  fortune,  without  being  able  to  support  the  ex- 
pense ;  an  observation  which  the  rest  contributed  either 
to  enforce  by  repetition,  or  to  illustrate  by  examples.  On- 
ly one  of  them  tried  to  divert  the  discourse,  and  endeavor- 
ed to  direct  my  attention  to  remote  questions,  and,  com- 
mon topics* 

17V  A  man  guilty  of  poverty  easily  believes  himself  sus- 
pected. I  went,  however,  next  morning  to  breakfast  with 
him  who  appeared  ignorant  of  the  drift  of  the  conversa- 
tion, and  by  a  series  of  inquiries,  drawing  still  nearer  to 
the  point,  prevailed  on  him,  not,  perhaps,,  much  against 
his  will,  to  inform  me  that  Mr.  Dash,  whose  father  was 
a  wealthy  attorney  near  my  native  place,  had  the  morn-, 
ing  before  received  an  account  of  my  uncle's  resentment, 
and  communicated  his  intelligence  with  the  utmost  indus- 
try of  grovelling  insolence. 

18.  It  was  no  longer  practicable  to  consort  with  my 
former  friends,  unless  I  would  be  content  to  be  used  as  an 
inferior  guest,  who  was  to  pay  for  his  wine  by  mirth  and 
flattery  ;  a  character,  which,  if  I  could  not  escape  it,  I 
resolved  to  endure  only   among  those   who  had   never 
known  me  in  the  pride  of  plenty. 

19.  I  changed  my  lodgings,  and  frequented  the  coffee- 
houses in  a  different  region  of  the  town  ;  where  I  was 
very  quickly  distinguished  by  several  young  gentlemen  of 
high  birth  and  large  estates,  and  began  again  to  amuse 
my  imagination   with  hopes  of  preferment,  though  not 
quite  so  confidently  as  when  I  had  less  experience. 

20.  The  first  great  conquest  which  this  new  scence  en- 
abled me  to  gain  over  myself  was,  when  I  submitted  to  con- 
fess to  a  party,  who  invited  me  to  an  expensive  diversion, 
that  my  revenues  were  not  equal  to  such  golden  pleasures ; 
they  would  not  suffer  me,  however  to  stay  behind,  and 
with  great  reluctance  I  yielded  to  be  treated.     I  took  that 
opportunity  of  recommending  myself  to  some  office  or 
employment,  which  they  unanimously  promised  to  pro- 
cure me  by  their  joint  interest. 

21,J  bad  now  entered  into  a  state  of  depemlance  and. 


164      The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

had  hopes,  or  fears,  from  almest  every  man  I  saw.  If  it 
be  unhappy  to  have  one  patron,  what  is  his  misery  who 
has  so  many  ?  I  was  obliged  to  comply  with  a  thousand 
caprices,  to  concur  in  a  thousand  follies,  and  to  counten- 
ance a  thousand  errors.  I  endured  innumerable  mor- 
tifications, if  not  from  cruelty,  at  least  from  negligence, 
•which  will  creep  in  upon  the  kindest  and  most  delicate 
minds,  when  they  converse  without  the  mutual  awe  of 
equal  condition. 

22.  I  found  the  spirit  and  vigor  of  liberty  every  mo- 
ment sinking  in  me,    and  a  servile  fear  of  displeasing, 
stealing  by  degrees  upon  all  my  behavior,  till  no  word, 
or  look,  or  action,  was  my  own.     As  the  solicitude  to 
please  increased,  the  power  of  pleasing  grew  less,   and  I 
was  always  clouded  with  diffidence  where  it  was  most  my 
interest  and  wish  to  shine. 

23.  My  patrons,    considering  me  as  belonging  to  the 
community,  and,  therefore,  not  the  charge  of  any  par- 
ticular person,  made  no  scruple  of  neglecting  any  oppor- 
tunity of  promoting  me,  which  every  one  thought  more 
properly  the  business  of  another.     An  account  of  my  ex- 
pectations and  disappointments,  and  the  succeeding   vi- 
cissitudes of  my  life,  I   shall  give  you  in  my    following 
tetter,  which  will  be,  I  hope,  of  use  to  show  how  ill  ho 
forms   his    schemes,    who    expects    happiness    without 
freedom.  I  am,   &c. 


The  Misery  of  depending  upon  the  Great. 

RAMBLER,  NO.  27. 

1.  \  S  it  is  natural  for  every  man  to  think  himself  of 
JL\.  importance,  your  knowledge  of  the  world  will 
incline  you  to  forgive  me,  if  I  imagine  your  curiosity  so 
much  excited  by  the  former  part  of  my  narration,  as  to 
make  you  desire  that  I  should  proceed  without  any  unne- 
cessary arts  of  connection.  1  shall,  therefor,  not  keep 
you  longer  in  such  suspence,  as  perhaps  my  performance 
may  not  compensate. 

2.  In  the  gay  company  with  which  I  was  now  united, 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT*  165 

1  found  those  allurements  and  delights,  which  the  friend- 
ship of  young  men  always  affords  ;  there  was  that  open- 
ness which  naturally  produced  confidence,  that  affability 
which,  in  some  measure,  softened  dependance,  and  that 
ardor  of  profession  which  excited  hope. 

3.  When    our  hearts  were   dilated  with    merriment, 
promises  were  poured  out  with  unlimited   profusion,  and 
life  and  fortune  were  but  a  scanty  sacrifice  to  friendship  ; 
but  when  the  hour  came,  at  which  any  effort  was  to  be 
made,  I  had  generally  the  vexation  to  find,  that  my  inter- 
est weighed  nothing  against  the  slightest  amusement,  and 
that  every  petty  avocation  was  found  a  sufficient  plea  for 
continuing  me  in  uncertainty  and  want. 

4.  Their  kindness  was  indeed  sincere,  when  they  prom- 
ised they  had  no  intention  to  deceive  ;  but  the  same  juve- 
nile warmth  which  kindled  their  benevolence,  gave  force 
in  the  same  proportion  to  every  other  passion,   and  I  was 
forgotten  as  soon  as  any  new  pleasures  seized  on  their 
attention. 

5.  Vagrio  told  me  one  evening,  that  all  my  perplexities 
should  soon  be  at   an  end,  and  desired  me,  from  that  in- 
stant, to  throw  upon  him  all  care  of  my  fortune,  for  a  post 
of  considerable  value  was  that  day  become  vacant,  and  he 
knew  his  interest  sufficient  to  procure  it  in  the  morning. 
He  desired  me  to  call  on  him  early,  that  he  might  be  dres- 
sed soon  enough  to  wait  on  the  minister  before  any  other 
application  should  be  made. 

6.  I  came  as  he  appointed,  with  all  the  flame  of  grati- 
tude, and  was  told  by  his  servant,  that  having  found  at  his 
lodgings,  when  he  came  home,  an  acquaintance   who  was 
going  to  travel,  he  had  been  persuaded  to  accompany  him 
-to  Dover,  and  that  they  had  taken  post-horses  two  hours 
before  day, 

7.  I  was  once  very  near  to  preferment  by  the  kindness 
af  Charinus  ;   who,  at  my  request,  went  to   beg  a  place, 
which  he  thought  me  likely  to  fill  with  great  reputation, 
and    in  which    I  should  have  many  opportunities  of  pro- 
moting   his   interest   in   return  ;   and   he  pleased  himself 
•with  imagining  tjhe  mutual  benefits  that  we  should  con- 
fer, and  the  advances  that  we  should  make  by  our  united 
strength. 

8.  Away,  therefore,  he  went,  equally  warm  with  friend- 


J66       The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

ship  and  ambition,  and  left  me  to  prepare  acknowledge 
ments  against  his  return.  At  length  he  came  back,  and 
told  me  that  he  had  met  in  his  way  a  party  going  to  break- 
fast in  the  country,  that  the  ladies  importuned  him  too 
much  to  be  refused,  and  that  having  passed  the  morning 
with  them,  he  was  come  back  to  dress  himself  for  a  ball, 
tp  which  he  was  invited  for  the  evening* 

9.  I  have  suffered  several  disappointments  from  tailors 
and  per ri wig  makers,  who,  by  neglecting  to  perform  their 
work,  withheld  ,my  patrons  from  court  ;  and  once  failed 
of  an  establishment  for  life  by  the  delay  of  a  servant,  sent 
to  a  neighboring  shop  to  replenish  a  snuff-box. 

30.  At  last  I  thought  my  solicitude  at  an  end,  for  an 
office  fell  into  the  gift  of  Hippodamus'  father,  who  being 
then  in  the  country,  could  not  very  speedily  fill  it,  and 
whose  fondness  would  not  have  suffered  him  to  refuse  his 
son  a  less  reasonable  request.  Hippodamus  therefore  set 
forward  with  great  expedition,  and  I  expected  every  hour 
an  account  of  his  success. 

11.  A  long  time  I  waited  without  any  intelligence,  but 
#t  last  received  a  letter  from  New-market,  by  which  I  was 
informed,  that  the  races  were  begun,  and  I  knew  the  ve- 
hemence of  his  passions  too  well  to  imagine  that  he  could 
refuse  himself  his  favorite  amusement. 

12.  You  will  not  wonder   that  I  was  at  last  weary  of 
the  patronage  of  young  men,  especially  as  I  found  them 
not  generally  to  promise  much  greater  fidelity  as  they 
advanced  in  life  ;  for  I  observed  that  what  they  gained  in 
steadiness  they-  Jost 'in   benevolence,  and  grew    colder  to 
xny  interest  as  they  became  more  diligent  to  promote  their 
own. 

1 3.  I  was  convinced  that  their  liberality  was  only  pro- 
fuseness,  that,  as  chance  directed,  they  were  equally  gene- 
rous to  vice  and  virtue,  that  they  were  warm,  but  because 
they  were  thoughtless,  and  counted  the  support  of  a  friend 
only  amongst  other  gratifications  of  passion. 

14.  My  resolution  was  now  to  ingratiate  myself  with 
izien  whose  reputation  was  established,  whose  high  stations 
enabled  them  to.  prefer  me,  and  whose  age  exempted  them 
from  sudden  changes  of  inclination.  I  was  considered  as  a 
man  of  parts,   and  therefore  easily  found  admission  to  the 
table  of  Hilarius,  the  celebrated  ,or,ator,  renowned  equally 


&nd  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  107 

for  the  extent  of  his  knowledge,  the  elegance  of  his  dic- 
tion, and  the  acuteness  of  his  wit. 

15.  Hilarius  received  me  with  an  appearance  of  great 
satisfaction,  produced  to  me  all  his  friends,  and  directed 
to  me  that  part  of  his  discourse  in  which  he  most  endeav- 
ored to  display  his  imagination.     I  had  now  learned  my 
own  interest  enough  to  supply  him  with  opportunities  for 
smart  remarks  and  gay  sallies,  which  I   never  failed  to 
echo  and  applaud. 

16.  Thus  I  was  gaining  every  hour  on  his  affections, 
till,  unfortunately,  when  the  assembly  was  more  splendid 
than  usual,  his  desire  of  admiration  prompted  him  to  turn 
his  raillery  upon  me.     I  bore  it  for  some  time  with  great 
submission,  and  success  encouraged  him  to  redouble  hist 
attacks,  at  last  my  vanity   prevailed  over  my  prudence  ; 
I  retorted  his  irony  with  such  spirit,  that  Hilarius,  unac- 
customed to  resistance,  was  disconcerted,  and  soon  found 
means  of  convincing  me,  that  his  purpose  was  not  to  en- 
courage a  rival,  but  to  foster  a  parasite. 

17.  I  was  then  taken  into  the  familiarity  of  Argutio, 
a  nobleman  eminent  for  judgment  and  criticism.     He  had 
contributed   to  my  reputation,   by  the  praises  which  he 
had  often  bestowed  upon  my  writings,  in  which  he  owned 
that  there  were  proofs  of  a  genius  that  might  rise  to  high 
degrees  of  excellence,  when  time,  or  information,  had  re- 
duced its  exuberance. 

18.  He   therefore  required  me  to  consult  him  before 
the  publication  of  any  new  performance,  and  commonly 
proposed  innumerable  alterations,   without  sufficient  at- 
tention to  the  general  design,  ©r  regard   to  my  form  of 
style,  and  mode  of  imagination. 

19.  But  these  corrections  he  never  failed  to  press  as  in- 
dispensibly  necessary,  and  thought  the  least  delay  of  com- 
pliance an  act  of  rebellion.     The  pride  of  an  author  made 
this  treatment   insufferable,  and  I  thought  any  tyranny 
easier  to  be  borne  than  that  which  took  from  me  the  use 
of  my  understanding. 

20.  My  next  patron  was  Eutyches  the  statesman  who 
was  wholly  engaged  in  public  affairs,  and  seemed  to  have 
no  ambition  but  to  be  powerful  and  rich.     I  found  his  fa- 
vor more  permanent  than  that  of  the  others,  for  there  was 
a  certain  prise  at  which  it  might  be  bought ;  he  allowed 


168      The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

nothing  to  humor  or  affection,  but  was  always  ready  to 
pay  liberally  for  the  service  he  required. 

21.  His  demands  were,  indeed,  very  often  such  as  vir- 
tue could  not  easily  consent  to  gratify  ;  but  virtue  is  not 
to  be  consulted  when  men  are  to  raise  their  fortunes  by 
the  favor  of  the  great.     His  measures  were  censured  ;  I 
wrote  in  his  defence,  and  was  recompensed  with  a  place, 
of  which  the  profits  were  never  received  by  me  withou 
the  pangs  of  remembering  that  they  were  the  reward  « 
wickedness  ;  a  reward  which  nothing  but  that  necessity 
which  the  consumption  of  my  little  estate  in  these  wii< 
pursuits  had  brought  upon  me,  hindered  me  from  throv 
ing  back  in  the  face  of  my  corruptor. 

22.  At  this  time  my  uncle  died   without  a  will,  and  I 
became  heir  to  a  small  fortune.    I  had  resolution  to  throw 
off  the  splendor  which  reproached  me  to  myself,  and  re- 
tire to  an  humbler  state,  in  which  I  am  now  endeavoring 
to  recover  the  dignity  of  virtue,  and  hope  to  make  some 
reparation  for  my  crimes  and  follies,  by  informing  others 
who  may  be  led  after   the  same  pageants,  that  they  are 
about  to  engage  in  a  course  of  life,  in  which  they  are  to 
purchase,  by  a  thousand  miseries,   the  privilege   of  re^ 
pentance. 

I  am,  &c. 

EUBULUS. 


What  it  is  to  see  the  World  ;  the  Story  of  Melissa. 

RAMBLER,  No.  75. 

1.  r  I  ^HE  diligence  with  which  you  endeavor  to  cul- 
JL  tivate  the  knowledge  of  nature,  manners,  and 
life,  will  perhaps  incline  you  to  pay  some  regard  to  the 
observations  of  one  who  has  been  taught  to  know  man- 
kind by  unwelcome  information,  and  whose  opinions  are 
the  result,  not  of  solitary  conjectures,  but  of  practice  and 
experience. 

2.  I  was  born  to  a  large  fortune,  and  bred  to  the  knowl- 
edge of  those  arts  which  are  supposed  to  accomplish  the 
inind,  and  adorn  the  person  of  a  woman.  To  these 
attainments,  which  custom  and  education  almost  forced 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  )  69 

••  upon  me,  I  added  some  voluntary  acquisitions  by  the  u^ 
of  books,  and  the  conversation  of  that  species  of  msn 
-whom  the  ladies  generally  mention  with  terror  and  aver- 
sion under  the  name  of  scholars,  but  whom  I  have  found 
a  harmless  and  inoffensive  order  of  beings,  not  so  much 
wiser  than  ourselves,  but  that  they  may  receive  as  well  as 
communicate  knowledge,  and  more  inclined  to  degrade 
their  own  character  by  cowardly  submission,  than  to  over- 
bear or  oppress  us.  by  their  learning  or  their  wit. 

3.  From  these   men,   however,    if   they  are    by  kind 
treatment  encouraged  to  talk,  something  may  be   gained, 
•which,  embellished   with  elegancy,   and  softened  by  mo- 
desty, will  always  add  dignity  and  value  to  female  conver- 
sation ;  and  from  my  acquaintance  with  the  bookish  part 
of  the  world,   I  derived  many  principles  of  judgment  and 
maxims  of  prudence,   by  v/hich   I    was    enabled  to  draw 
upon  myself  the  general  regard  in   every  place  of  con- 
course or  pleasure. 

4.  My  opinion  was  the   great,  rule  of  approbation,  rny 
remarks  were  remembered  by  those  who  desired  the   se  • 
cond  degree  of  fame,  my  mein  was  studied,  my  dress  was 
imitated,  my  It  tiers  were  handed  from  one  family  to  an- 
other, and  read  by  those  who  copied  them  as  sent  to  tl 
selves  ;   my   visits    were  solicited  as    honors,   ar.d   rnulti- 

. tucks  boasted  of  an  intimacy  with  Melissa,  who  had  oi;lv 
seen  me  by  accident,  whose  familiarity  had  never  proceed- 
,ed  beyond  the. exchange  of  a  compliment,  or  return  of  a 
•ccurtsey. 

5.  I  shall  make  no  scruple  of  confessing  that  I  was 
pleased  with   this  universal  veneration,  because  I  always 
considered  it  as  paid  to  my  intrinsic  qualities  and  insepa- 
rable merit,  and  very  easy  persuaded  myself,  that  fortune 
had  no  part  in  my  superiority. 

6.  When   I  looked   upon   my   glass  I  saw   youth   and 
beauty,    with   health  that  might  give  me  reason  to  hope 
their  continuance  :  when   I   examined  vny  mind,  I  found 
some  strength  of  judgment,  and  fertility  offaney  ;  ar.d 
was  told  that  every  action  was  grace,    and  that  every  ac- 
cent was  persuasion. 

?•  In  tlv;s  manner  my  life   passed  like   a  corii.irj.ir: 

urtiph  amidst  acclamations,  and  envy,  and  courislup,  arid 

ses  :   -.o  pieiuf  Melissa  was  tne  general  ainbitio' 


'-.-man  and  lady's  MONITOR, 

of  artful  flattery  was  practised  upon  me* 
:  is   grateful,  even  when  we  know  that  our 
pr  re   not  believed  by  those  who  pronounce  them  : 

;       '        prove  at  least,  our  power,  and  show  that   otir 
:  since  it  is  purchased  by  the  meanness  of 

C,  1-ivit  perhaps  the  flatterer  is  not  often  detected,  for 
-nest  mind  is  not  apt  to  suspect,  and  no  one  exerts 
; \-n\ers  of  discernment  with  much  vigor  when  self- 
K.VOIS  the  deceit. 

£.  The  number  of  adorers,  and  the  perpetual  distrac- 
tion of  my  thoughts  by  new  schemes  of  pleasure,  prevent- 
m  listening  to  any  of  those  who  croud  in  miilti- 
to  give  gins  advice,   and   kept  me   unmarried   and 
;agc*d  to   my  twenty-seventh  year,    when  as   I    was 
vr.vering  in  all  the  pride  of  uncontestecl  excellency,  with 
i;  face  yet  little  impaired,   and  a  mind  hourly  improving, 
the   failure  of  a  fund,  in  which  my  money  was  placed, 
reduced  me  to  a  frugal  competency,  which  allowed  a  little 
beyond  neatness  and  independence. 

10.  I  bore  the  diminution  of  my  riches,  without  any 
outrages  of  sorrow,  or  pusillanimity  ofdejectiop.     Indeed 
1  d'J  not  know  how  much  .1  had  lost,  for  having  always 

:  and  thought  rr^ore  of  my  wit  and  beauty,  than  of 
nvr  ibruii*2,  it  did  not  suddenly  enter  my  imagination, 
.  Melissa  could  sink  beneath  her  established  rank,  while 
form  and  her  mind  continued  the  same  ;  that  she 
should  cease  to  raise  admiration  but  by  ceasing  to  deserve 
i't,  or  feel  any  stroke  but  from  the  hand  of  time. 

1 1 .  It  was  in  my  power  to  have  concealed  the  loss,  and 
to  have   married,   by    continuing  the  same  appearance, 
wiih  all  the  credit  of  my  original  fortune  ;  but  I  was  not 
so  far  sunk  in  my  esteem,  as  to  submit  to  the  baseness  of 
fraud,  or  to  desire  any  other  recommendation  than  sense 
and  virtue. 

12.  I  therefore  dismissed  my  equipage,  sold  those  or- 
naments which  were  become  unsuitable  to  my  new  condi- 
tion, and  appeared  among  those  with  whom  I  used  to  con- 
verse with  less  glitter,  but  with  equal  spirit. 

13.  I  found  myself  received  at  every  visit,  with  sorrow- 
beyond   what  is  naturally  felt  for  calamities  in  which  we 
have  no  prat,  and  ins  entertained  with  condolence  and 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT. 

consolation,  so  frequently  repeated,  that  my  friends  _ 

ly   consulted    rather   their   own    gratification,  than    my 

relief. 

14.  Some    from  that   time  refused  my   acquaintance, 
and  fbrebore  without  any  provocation,  to  repay  my  visits  ; 
some  visited  me  but  after  a  longer  interval  than  usual,  and 
every  return  was  still  with  more  delay  ;  nor  did  any  of 
my  female  acquaintances   fail    to  introduce    the  mention 
of  my  misfortunes,    to  compare  my  present   and  former 
condition,    to  tell   me  how  much  it   must  trouble  me  to 
want  the   splendor  which  I   became  so  well  ;   to  look  at 
pleasures,  which  I  had  formerly  enjoyed,  and  to  sink  to 
a  level  with  those  by  whom    I   had   been  considered  as 
moving  in  a  higher  sphere,  and  who  had  hitherto  approach- 
ed me  with  reverence  and  submission,  which  I  was  now 
no  longer  to  expect. 

15.  Observations    like   these   are  commonly    nothing- 
better  than  covert  insults,  which  serve  to   give  vent  to  the 
flattulence  of  pride,  but  they  are  now  and  then  imprudent- 
ly uttered  by  honesty   and  benevolence,   and  inflict   pain 
where  kindness  is  intended  ;  I  will  therefore  so  fur  main- 
tain my  antiquated  claim  to  politeness,  as  to  venture  the 
establishment  of  this  rule,  that  no  one  ought  to  remind 
another  of  misfortunes    of  which   the   sufferer   does  not 
complain,  and  which  there    are  no  means  proposed  of 
alleviating. 

16.  You  have  no  riglrt  to  excite  thoughts  which  neces- 
sarily give  pain  whenever  they  return,  and  which  perhaps 
might  not  have  revived  but  by  absurd  and  unseasonable 
compassion. 

17.  My  endless  train  of  lovers  immediately  withdrew, 
without  raising  any  emotions.     The  greater  part  had  in- 
deed always  professed  to  court,  as  it  is  termed,  upon  the 
square,  had  inquired  my  fortune,  and  offered  settlements  ; 
these   undoubtedly  had  a  right  to   retire  without  censure, 
since  they  had  openly  treated  for  money,   as  necessary  to 
their  happiness,   and  who  can  tell  how  little  they  wanted 
any  other  portion  ?  / 

18.  I  have  always  though  the  clamors  of  women  un- 
reasonable, who  imagine  themselves  injured,  because  the 
men  who  followed  them  upon  the  supposition  of  a  greater 
fortune,  reject  them  when  they  are  discovered  to  have  less* 


172      The  Young  Gentlemen  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

I  have  never  known  any  lady,  who  did  not  think  wealth 
a  title  to  some  stipulations  in  her  favor  ;  and  surely  what 
is  claimed  by  the  possession  of  money,  is  justly  forfeited 
by  its  loss. 

19.  She  that  has  once  demanded  a  settlement,  has  al- 
lowed the  importance  of  fortune;  and  when  she  cannot 
&how  pecuniary  merit,  why  should  she  think  her  cheapner 
cbl;e;td  to  purchase  ? 

20.  My  lovers  were  not  all  contented  with  silent  deser- 
'tion.     Some  of  them    revenged    the   neglect  which  they 

bad  formerly  endured  by  wanton  and  superfluous  insults, 
i  endeavored  to  mortify  me,  by  paying  in  my  presence 
those  civilities  to  other  ladies,   which  were  once  devoted 
•My7  to  me. 

21.  But  as  it  had  been  my  rule  to  treat  men  according  . 
to  the  rank  of  their  intellect,   I   had   never  suffered  any 
one  to  waste  his  life  in  suspense  who  could  have  employed 
it  to  better  purpose,  and  had  therefore  no  enemies  but 
coxcombs,   whose   resentment  and  respect    were  equally, 
below  my  consideration. 

£2.  The  only  pain  which  I  have  felt  from  degradation, 
is  the  loss  of  that  influence  which  I  have  always  exerted 
on  the  side  of  virtue,  in  the  defence  of  innocence,  and 
the  assertion  of  truth.  I  now  find  my  opinions  slighted, 
my  sentiments  criticised,  and  my  arguments  opposed  by 
those  who  used  to  listen  to  me  without  reply,  and  struggle 
to  be  first  in  expressing  their  conviction. 

23.  The  female  disputants  have  wholly  thrown  off  my 
authority,    and  if  I  endeavor  to  enforce    my  reasons  by 
an  appeal   to  the  scholars  that   happen  to  be  present,  the 
wretches   are    certain   to  pay  their  court  by  sacrificing 
me  and  my  system  to  a  finer  gown  ;  and  I  am  every  hour 
insulted  with  contradiction  by   cowards,  who  could  never 
find  till  lately,  that  Melissa  was  liable  to  error. 

24.  There  are  two  persons  only  whom  I  cannot  charge 
Ji  having:  changed  their  conduct  with   my   change   of 
•tune.  One  is  an  old  curate,  that  has  passed  his  life  in  the 

duties  of  his  profession,  with  great  reputation  for  his 
-r.vletlge  and  piety;  the  other  is  a  lieutenant  of  dra- 
goons. 'The  parson  made  no  difficulty  in  the  height  of 
iny  elevation,  to  check  me  when  I  was  pert,  and  in- 
struct rhe  when  I  blundered  ;  and  if  there  is  any  alteration, 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  175 

he   is  now  more  timorous,   lest  his  freedom  should   be 
thought  rudeness. 

25.  The  soldier  never  paid  me  any  particular  addresses, 
but  very  rigidly  observed  all  the  rules  of  politeness,  which 
he  is  now  so  far  from  relaxing,  that  whenever  he  serves 
the  tea,  he  obstinately  carries   me  the  first  dish,  in  defi- 
ance of  the  frowns  and  whispers  of  the  table. 

26.  This  Mr.  Rambler,  is  to  sec  the  world.     It  is  im- 
possible for  those  that  have  only  known  affluence  and  pros- 
perity, to  judge  rightly  of  themselves  or  others.     The 
rich  and  the  powerful  live  in  a  perpetual  masquerade,  in 
which  all  about  them  wear  borrowed  characters  ;  and  we 
only  discover  in    what  estimation   we  are   held,  when  we 
can  no  longer  give  hopes  or  fears. 

I  am,  &c. 

MELISSA. 


Cn  the  Omniscience  and  Omnipresence  of  the  Deity  ^  together 
with  the  Immensity  of  his  Works* 

3.  T  WAS  yesterday  about  sun-set  walking  in  the  open 
JL  fields,  till  the  night  insensibly  fell  upon  me.  I  at 
first  amused  myself  with  all  the  richness  and  variety  of 
colors,  which  appeared  in  the  western  parts  of  heaven  : 
in  proportion  as  they  faded  away  and  went  out,  several 
stars  and  planets  appeared  one  after  another,  till  the  whole 
firmament  was  in  a  glow.  The  blueness  of  the  asther 
\vas  exceedingly  heightened  and  enlivened  by  the  season 
of  the  year,  and' by  the  rays  of  all  those  luminaries  that 
passed  through  k. 

2.  The    Galaxy  appeared  in   its  irtost  beautiful  white. 
To  complete  the  scene,  the   full   moon  rose  at   length  in 
that  clouded  majesty,  which   Milton  takes  notice   of,  and 
opened    to  the  eye   anew  picture  of  nature,  which   was 
more  finely  shaded,    and    disposed  among  softer  lights, 
than  that  which  the  sun  had  before  discovered  to  us. 

3.  As  I  was  surveying  the  moon  walking  in  her  bright-  . 
ness,  and  taking  her  progress  among   the   constellations, 
51  though  rose  in  me  which  I  believe  very  often  perplexes 

P  2 


174     The    Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

and  disturbs  men  of  serious  and  contemplative  natures.- 
David  himself  fell  into  it  in  that  reflection,   When  I  co 
eider  the  heavens,  the  work  of  thy  fingers,  the  moon  and  stars 
which  thou  hast  ordained  ;  what  is  man  that  thou  art  mindful 
of  him,  and  the  son  of  man  tlmt  thou  regardsst  him  ! 

4.  In  the  same  manner,  when  I  consider  that  infinite 
host  of  stars,  or  to  speak   more   philosophically,  of  suns, 
who  were  then  shining-  upon  me,  with  those  innumerable 
sets  of  planets  or  worlds,  which  were  moving  round  their 
respective  suns;  when  !  still  enlarged   the  idea,  and  sup- 
posed another  heaven -of  suns  and  worlds  rising  still  above 
this  which  he  had  discovered,  and  these  siill  enlightened 
by  a  superior  firmament  of  luminaries,  which  are  planted 
at  so  great  a  distance,  that  they  may  appear  to  the  inhab- 
itants of  the  former  as  the  stars  do  to  us  ;  in  short,  while 
1  pursued  this  thought,  I  could  not  but  reflect  on  that  little 
insignificant  figure  which  I  myself  bore  amidst  the  im- 
mensity of  God's  works. 

5.  Were  the  sun     which  enlightens  this  part  of  the 
creation,  with  all  the  host  of  planetary   worlds  that  move 
about   him,  utterly  extinguished  and    annihilated,    they 
•would  not  be  missed,  more  than  a  grain  of  sand  upon  the 
sea-shore.     The  space  they  possess  is  so  exceedingly  lit- 
tle in  comparison  of  the  whole,  that  it  would  scarce  make 
a  blank  in  the  creation.     The  chasm  would  be  impercep-. 
tible  to  an  eye  that    could  take  in   the  whole  compass  of 
Bature,  and  pass  from  one  end  of  the  creation  to  the  other ; 
as  it  is  possible  there  may  be  such  a  sense  in  ourselves 
hereafter,  or  in  creatures  which  are  at  present  more  axalt 
cd  than  ourselves. 

6.  We   see  many   stars   by  the  help  of  glasses,  which 
•we  do  not  discover  with  our  naked  eyes;  and  the  finer 
our  telescopes  are,    the  more  still  are   our  discoveries.. 
Huy genius  carries  this  thought  so  far,  that  he  does  not 
think  it  impossible  there  may  be  stars  whose  light  is  not 
yet  travelled  down  to  us,  since  their  first  creation.    There  . 
is  no  question  but  the  universe  has  certain  bounds  set  to 
it ;  but  when   we  consider  that  it  is  the  work  of  infinite 
power,  prompted  by  infinite  goodness,   with  an  infinite 
space  to  exert  itself  in^  how  can  our  imagination  set  any 
bounds  to  it  1 


&nd  English  Teacher's  ASSIST  ANT..  1 75 

7.  To  return,  therefore,  to  my  first  thought,   I  could 
not  but  look  upon  myself  with  secret  horror,  as   a  being 
that  was  not  worth  the  smallest  regard  of  one  who  had  so 
great  a  work  under  his  care  and  superintendence    I  was, 
afraid  of  being  overlooked  amidst  the  immensity  of  nature, 
and  lost  among  that  infinite  variety  of  creatures,  which  in 
all  probability  swarra  through,  all  these  immeasurable  re- 
gions of  matter. 

In  order  to  recover  myself  from  this  mortifying  thought, 
I  consider  that  it  took  its  rise  from  those  narrow  concep- 
tions which  we  are  apt  to  maintain  of  the  divine  nature. 
We  ourselves  cannot  attend  to  many  different  objects  at 
the  same  time.  If  we  are  careful  to  inspect  some  things, 
we  must, of  course  neglect  others.., 

8.  This  imperfection  which  we  observe  in  ourselves  is 
an  imperfection  that  cleaves  in  some  degree  to  creatures 
of  the  highest  capacities,  as  they  are  creatures,  that  is, 
beings  of  finite  and   limited  natures.     The  presence  of 
every  created  being  is  confined  to  a  certain  measure  of 
space,  and   consequently  his  observation   is   stinted  to  a 
certain    number  of  objects.     The    sphere  in  which  we 
move,  and  act,  and  understand,  is  of  a  wider  circumference 
to  one   creature  than   another,  according  as, we   rise  one 
above  another  in  the  scale  of  existence., 

9.,  But  the  widsst  of  these  ou?  spheres  has  its  circum- 
ference* When  therefore  we  reflect  on  the  divine  nature, 
•we  are  so  used  and  accustomed  to  this  imperfection  in 
ourselves,  that  we  cannot  forbear  in  some  measure  ascrib- 
ing it  to  him  in  whom  there  is  no  shadow  of  imperfection.. 
Our  reason  indeed  ascribes  that  his  attributes  are  infinite, 
but  the  poorness  of  our  conceptions  is  such  that  it  cannot 
forbear  setting  bounds  to  every  thing  it  contemplates,  till 
our  reason  comes  again  to  our  succor,  and  throws  down 
all  those  little  prejudices  which  rise  in  us  unawares,  and 
are  natural  to  the  mind  of  man.. 

10..  We  shall  therefore  utterly  extinguish  this  melan- 
choly thought,  of  our  being  overlooked  by  our  Maker  in 
the  multiplicity  of  his  works,  and  the  infinity  of  those  ob- 
jects among  which  he  seems  to  be  incessantly  employed, 
if  we  consider,  in  the  first  place,  that  he  is  omnipresent  | 
and  in  the  second,  that  he  is  omniscient. 

If  we  consider  him  in  his.  omnipresence  j.  bis  being 


„ 


176     The  Young-  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

passes  through,  actuates  and  supports  the  whole  frar 
of  nature.     His  creation,  and  every  part  of  it,  is  full  of 
him. 

11.  There  is  nothing  he  has  made,  that  is  either  so 
distant,  so  little,  or  so  inconsiderable,  which  he  does  not 
essentially  inhabit.    His  substance  is  within  the  substance 
of  every  being,  whether   material  or  immaterial,  and  is 
intimately  present  to  it,  as  that  being  is  to  itself.     It 
would  be  an  imperfection  in  him,  were  he  able  to  remove 
out  of  one    place  into  another,  or  to  withdraw  himself 
from  any  thing  he  has  created,  or  from  any  part  ©f  that 
space  which  is  diffused  and  spread  abroad  to  infinity.     In 
short,  to  speak  of  him  in  the  language  of  the  old  philoso- 
phers, he  is  a  being  whose  centre  is  every  where,  and  his 
circumference  no  where. 

12.  In  the   second  place,  he  is  omniscient  as  well  as 
omnipresent.     His  omniscience  indeed  necessarily  and 
naturally  flows  from   his  omnipresence.     He  cannot  but 
be  conscious   of  every  motion  that  arises    in  the  whole 
material  world,  which  he  thus  essentially  pervades  ;   and 
of  every  thought  that  is  stirring  in  the  intellectual  world, 
to  every  part  of  which  he  is  thus  intimately  united.    Sev- 
eral moralists  have  considered  the  creation  as  the  temple 
of  God,  which  he  has  built  with  his  own  hands,  and  which 
is  filled  with  his  presence. 

13.  Others  have  considered  infinite  space  as  the  recep- 
tacle, or  rather  the  habitation  of  the  Almighty  ;  but  the 
noblest  and  most  exalted  way  of  considering  this  infinite 
space,  is  that  of  Sir  Isaac  Newton,  who  calls  it  the  sensori- 
um  of  the  Godhead.     Brutes  and  men  have  their  sensorfay 
or  little  scnseriums,  by  which  they  apprehend  the  presence 
and  perceive   the  actions  of  a  few  objects  that  lie  contig- 
uous to  them*     Their  knowledge  and  apprehension  turn 
within  a  very  narrow  circle.     But  as  God  Almighty  can- 
not but  perceive  and  know  every  thing  in  which  he  resides, 
infinite  space  gives  room  to  infinite  knowledge,  and  is,  as 
it  were,  an  organ  to  omniscience. 

14.  Were  the   soul  separate  from  the  body,  and  with 
one  glance  of  thought  should   start  beyond  the  bounds  of 
the  creation  ;   should  it  for  millions  of  years  continue   its 
progress  through    infinite  space    with  the  same  activity, 
it  would  still  find  itself  within  the  embraces  of  its  Creator? 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  1/7 

and  encompassed  round  with  the  immensity  of  the  God- 
head. While  we  are  in  the  body  he  is  not  less  present 
with  us,  because  he  is  concealed  from  us.  Gh  that  I  knew 
ivherc  I  might  tfind  him  !  says  Job.  Behold  I  go  forward, 
tout  he  is  not  there  ;  and  backward,  but  I  cannot  perceive 
him  :  on  the  left  hand^  where  he  dot's  i^ork^  but  I  cannot 
behold  him:  he  hideth  himself  on  the  right  hand  that  I  cannot 
ftee  him.  In  short,  reason  as  well  as  revelation  assures  us, 
that  he  cannot  be  absent  from  us,  notwithstanding  he  is 
undiscovered  by  us. 

15.  In  this  consideration  of  God  Almighty's  omnipre- 
sence and  omniscience,  every  uncomfortable  thought  van- 
ishes. He  cannot  but  regard  every  thing  that  has  being, 
especially  such  of  his  creatures  who  fear  they  are  not  re- 
garded by  him »  He  is- privy  to  all  their  thoughts,  and  to 
that  anxiety  of  heart  in  particular,  which  is  apt  to  trouble 
them  on  this  occasion  ;  for,  as  it  is  impossible  he  should 
overl  *.>k  any  of  his  creatures,  so  we  may  be  confident  that 
he  regards,  with  an  eye  of  mercy,  those  who  endeavor  to 
recommend  themselves  to  his  notice,  and  in  unfeigned  hu- 
mility of  heart  think  them&eives  unworthy  that  he  should 
be  mindful  of  them. 


vcs  to  Piety  and  Virtue,  drawn  from  the  Cmrthcic^c: 
and  Omnipresence  of  the  Betty. 

SPECTATOR,  NO,  571. 
l.TNyour  paper  of  Friday,   the   9th  instant,  you  had 

JL  occasion  to  consider  the  ubiquity  of  the  Godhead, 
and  at  the  same  time  to  show,  that  as  he  is  present  to  eve- 
ry thinr«,  he  cannot  but  be  attentive  to  every  thing,  and  pri- 
vy to  all  the  modes  and  parts  of  its  existence  ;  or  in  oth- 
er words,  that  his  omniscience  and  omnipresence  are  co- 
txis'ient,  and  run  together  through  the  whole  infinitude  of 
space* 

2.  This  consideration  might  furnish  us  with  many  in- 
centives to  devotion,  and  motives  to  morality  ;  but  as  this 
subject  has  been  handled  by  several   excellent  writers,  I 
shall  consider  it  in  a  light  wherein  I  have  not  seen  it 
fcd  by  others. 

lirst,  How  disconsolate  is  the   condition  cf  an  iht'el- 


178     The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

lectual  being  who  is  thus  present  with  his  Maker,  but  at 
the  same  time  receives  no  extraordinary  benefit  or  advan- 
tage from  this  his  presence  i 

3.  Secondly,  How  deplorable  is  the  condition  of  an  in- 
tellectual being,  who  feels  no  other  effects   from   this  his 
presence  but  such  as  proceed  from  divine  wrath  and  indig- 
nation ! 

Thirdly,  How  happy  is  the  condition  of  that  intellectu- 
al being,  who  is  sensible  of  his  Maker's  presence  from  the 
secret  effects  of  his  mercy  and  loving  kindness  ! 

4.  First,  How  disconsolate  is  the  condition  of  an   intel- 
lectual being,  who  is  thus  present  with  his  Maker,  but  at 
the  same  time  receives- no  extraordinary  benefit  or  advan- 
tage from  this  his  presence  !  Every  particle  of  matter  is 
actuated  by  this  Almighty  Being  which  passes  through  it. 
The  heavens  and  the  earth,  tke  stars  and  planets^  move, 
and  gravitate  by  virtue  of  this^reat  principle  within  them. 
All  the  dead  parts  of  nature  are  invigorated  by  the  pre- 
sence of  their  Creator,  and  made  capable  of  exerting  their 
respective  qualities. 

5.  The  several  instincts  in  the  brute  creation  do  like- 
wise operate  and  work  towards  the  several  ends  which  are 
agreeable    to   them,  by   this  divine  energy.     Man  only, 
who  does  not  co-operate  with  his  holy  spirit,  and  is  unat- 
tentive  to  his  presence,  receives  none  of  these  advantages 
from  it,  which  are  perfective  of  his  nature,  and  necessary 
to  his  well-being.     The   divinity  is  with  him,  and  in  him, 
and  every   where    about    him,  but  of   no  advantage  to 
him. 

6.  It  is  the  same  thing  to  a  man  without  religion  as  if 
there  were  no  God  in  the  world.     It  is  indeed  impossible 
for  an  infinite  Being  to  remove  himself  from  any  of  his 
creatures  ;  but  though  he  cannot  withdraw  his  essence 
from  us,  which   would  argue  an  imperfection  in  him,  he 
can  withdraw  from  us  all  the  joys  and  consolations  of  it. 
His  presence  may,  perhaps,  be  necessary  to  support  us  in 
cur  existence  ;  but  he  may  leave  this  our  existence  to  it- 
self, with  regard  to  our  happiness  or  misery. 

7.  For,  in  this  case,  he  may  cast  us  away  from  his  pre- 
sence, and  take  his  holy  spirit  from  us»     This  single  con- 
sideration one  would  think  sufficient  to  make  us  open  our 
hearts  to  all  those  infusions  of  joy  and  gladness  which  are 


find  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  179 

st>  near  at  hand,  and  ready  to  be  poured  in  upon  us :  es- 
pecially when  we  consider,  Secondly^  the  deplorable  con- 
dition of  an  intellectual  being  who  feels  no  other  effects 
from  his  Maker's  presence,  but  such  as  proceed  from  di- 
vine wrath  and  indignation  ! 

8.  We  may  assure  ourselves,  that  the  great  Author  of 
Nature  will  not  always  be  as  one,  who  is  indifferent  to  any 
oT  his  creatures.     Those  who  will  not  feel  him  in  his  love 
will  be  sure  at  length  to  feel  him  in  his  displeasure.    And 
how  dreadful   is  the  condition  of  that  creature  who  is 
only  sensible  of  the  being  of  his  Creator  by  what  he  suf- 
fers from  him  !  He  is  as  essentially  present  in  hell  as  in 
heaven  ;  but  the  inhabitants  of  the  former   behold  him 
only  in  his  wrath,   and  shrink   within  the  flames    to  con- 
ceal  themselves  from  him.     It  is  not  in  the  power  of  im- 
agination to  conceive  the  fearful  effects  of  Omnipotence 
incensed. 

9.  But  I  shall  only  consider  the  wretchedness  of  an  in- 
tellectual being,  who,  in  this  life,  lies  under  the  displeas- 
ure of  him,  that  at  all  times,  arid  in  all  places,  is  intimate- 
ly united  with  him.     He  is  able  to  disquiet  the  soul,  and 
vex  it  in  all  its  faculties.     He  can  hinder  any  of  the  great- 
est comforts  of  life  from  refreshing  us,  and  give  an  edge 
to  every  one  of  its  slightest  calamities. 

10.  Who  then  can  bear  the  thought  of  being  an  outcast 
from  his  presence,  .that   is,  from  the  comforU  of  it,  or  of 
feeling  it  only  in  its  terrors  I  how  pathetic  is  that  expos- 
tulation of  Job,  when  'for  the  real  trial  of  his  patience,  he 
was  made  to  look  upon  himself  in  this  deplorable  condi- 
tion \    Why  hast  then  sei  me  as  a  mark  against  thce,  to  that 
I  am  become  a  burden  to  myself?  But,  Thirdly,  how  happy 
is  the  condition  of  that  intellectual  being,  who  is  sensible 
of  his  Maker's  presence  from  the  secret  effects  of  his  mer- 
cy and  loving  kindness  ! 

11.  The   blessed    in    heaven  behold   him  face  to   face, 
that  is,  are  as  sensible  of  his  presence  as  we  are  of  the 
presence  of  any  person  whom  we  look  upon  with  our  eyes. 
There  is  doubtless  a  faculty  in  spirits,  by  which  they  ap- 
prehend one  another,  as  our  senses  do  mat;:ri<'.l  objects  ; 
and  there  is  no  question  but  our  souls,  when  they  are  dis- 
embodied, or  placed  in  glorified  bodies,  will  by  this  facul- 
ty, in  whatever  space  they  reside, -be  always  sensible  of  the 
divine  presence. 


ISO       The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

12.  We  who  have  this  veil  of  flesh  standing  betwee 
sis  and  the  world  of  spirits,  must  be  content  to  know  th 
spirit  of  God  is  present  with  us,  by  the  effects  which  he 
produceth  in  us.     Our  outward  senses   are  too  gross  tc 
apprehend  him  ;  we  may  however  taste  and  see  how  gra- 
cious he  is,  by  his  influence  upon  our  minds,  by  those  vir- 
tuous thoughts  which   he  awakens  in  us,  by  those  secret 
comforts    and  refreshments   which  he    conveys  into  our 
souls,  and  by  those  ravishing  joys  and  inward  satisfactions 
which  are  perpetually  springing  up,  and  diffusing  them- 
selves among  all  the  thoughts  of  good  men. 

13.  He  is  lodged  in  our  very  essence,  and  is  as  a  soul 
within  the  soul   to  irradiate  its  understanding,   rectify  its 
will,  purify    its  passions,  and  enliven   all  the  powers  of 
man.     How  happy  therefore  is  an  intellectual  being,  who 
by  prayer   and    meditation,  .by  virtue    and   good   works, 
opens  this   communication   bet.veen   God    and  his  own 
soul  1  Though  the  'whole  creation  frowns  upon   him,  and 
all   nnture  looks  black    about  him,   he  has  his  light  and 
support  within   him,  that  are  able  to  cheer  his  mind,  and 
bear  him  up  in  the   midst  of  all  those  horrors  which  en- 
compass him. 

14.  He  knows  -that  his  helper  is  at  hand,  and  is  always 
jnearer  to  him  than  any  tiling  else  can  be,  which  is  capable 
of  annoying  or  terrifying  him.     In  the  midst  of  calumny 
.or  contempt,  he  attends  to   that  Being  who  whispers  bet- 
ter things  within  his  soul,  and  whom  he  looks  upon  as  his 
defender,  his  glory,  and  the  lifter  up  of  his  head.     In  his 
deepest  solitude  and  retirement,   lie  knows  that  he  is  in 
company  with  the  greatest  ofbtings  ;  and  perceives  with- 
in himself  such  real  sensations  of  his   presence,   as  are 
more  delightful  than  any  thing  that  can  be  met  with  in  the 
conversations  of  his  creature  -s. 

15.  Even  in  the  hour  of  d-.:uvh,  be  considers  the  pains 
of  his   dissolution  to  be  nothing    else    but   the  breaking 
down  of  that  partition,   which    stands  betwixt  his    souls 
and  the  sight  of  that  Being,    who  is  always  present  with 
him,  and\s  about  to  manifest  itself  to  him   in   fulness 
of  joy. 

16.  If  we  would  be   thus  happy  and  thus  sensible  of 
our  Maker's  presence,  from  the  secret  effects  of  his  mercy 
sml  goodness^  we  must  keep  such  a  watch  over  ;\li  ouj? 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  131 

thoughts,  that,  in  the  language  of  the  scripture,  his  soul 
may  have  pleasure  in  us.  We  must  take  care  not  to  grieve 
his  holy  spirit,  and  endeavor  to  make  the  meditations  of 
our  hearts  always  acceptable  in  his  sight,  that  he  may  de- 
iight  thus  to  reside  and  dwell  in  us. 

17.  The  light  of  nature  could  direct  Seneca  to  this  doc- 
trine in  a  very  remarkable  passage  among  his  epistles  ; 
Sace r  inest  in  nobis  sfiiritus^  bonorum  malor unique  custos  et 
observator  ;  ct  quemadmodum  nos  ilium  tractamus,  ita  et  ills 
nos.  <  There  is  a  holy  spirit  residing  in  us,  who  watches 
•c  and  observes  both  good  and  evil  men,  and  will  treat  us 
<  after  the  same  manner  that  we  treat  him.*  But  I  shall 
conclude  this  discourse  with  those  more  emphalical  words 
in  divine  revelation  :  If  a  man  love  me  he  wilt  keeji  my 
words  ;  and  my  father  will  love  him^  and  we  will  come 
Jii?n,  and  make  our  abode  "with  him. 


Reflections  on  ths  third  Jlea^cn. 

,  SPECTATOR,  NO.  580. 

1.  j  CONSIDERED   in  my  two  last  letters,  that  awful 

JL  and  tremendous  subject,  the  ubiquity  or  omnipres- 
ence of  the  Divine  Being.  I  have  shown  that  he  is  equally 
present  in  all  places  throughout  the  whole  extent  of  infinite 
space.  This  doctrine  is  so  agreeable  to  reason,  that  wa 
'meet  with  it  in  the  writings  of  the  enlightened  heathens, 
as  I  might  show  at  large,  were  it  not  already  done  by  other 
hands.  But  though  the  Deity  be  thus  essentially  present 
through  all  the  immensity  of  space,  there  is  one  part  of  it 
in  which  he  discovers  himself  in  a  most  transcendent  and 
visible  glory. 

2.  This  is  that  place  which  is  marked  out  in  scripture 
under  the  different  appellations  of  Paradise^  the  third  heav- 
e??,  the  throne  of  God,  and  the  habitation  of  his  glory.  It  is 
here  where  the  glorified  body  of  our  Saviour  resides,  arid 
where  all  the  celestial  hierarchies,  and  innumerable  hosts 
of  angels,  are  represented  as  perpetually  surrounding  the 
seat  of  God  with  hallelujah's  and  hymns  of  praise.  This 
is  that  presence  of  God  which  some  of  the  divines  call 
his  glorious,  and  others  his  majestic  presence. 

Q 


«S2      The  Young  Gentleman  ajul   Letchfs  MONITOR, 

3.  He  is  indeed  as  essentially  present  in  all  other  pla- 
ces as  in  this  ;  but  it  is  here  where  he  resides  in.  a  sensible 
magnificence,  and  in  the  midst  of  all  those  splendors  which 
can  affect  the  imagination  of  created  beings. 

It  is  very   remarkable    that  this  opinion   of  God   Al- 
mighty's presence  in  heaven,  whether  discovered  by  the 
light  of  nature,  or  by  a  general  tradition   from  our  first 
rents,  prevails  among   all   the  nations   of  the  world 
'natsoever  different  notions  they  entertain  of  the  God' 
neaci* 

4.  If  you  look  into  Homer,  that  is,   the  most  ancient  of 
the  Greek  writers,  you  see  the  supreme  power  seated  in  the 
Heavens,  and  encompassed  with  inferior  deities,  amonp- 
Wiiom  the  muses  are  represented  as  singing  incessantly 
about  his  throne.  Who  does  not  here  see  the  main  atrokes 
and  outlines  of  this  great  truth  we  are  speaking  of  ? 

5.  The  same   doctrine  is  shadowed  out  in  many  other 
heathen  authors,   though  at  the  same  time,  like  several 
>ther  revealed  truths,  dashed  and  adulterated  with  a  mix- 
lure  of  fables  and  human  inventions.     But  to  pass  over 
the  notions  of  the  Greeks  and  Romans,  those  more  enlight- 
ened parts  of  the  pagan  world,  we  find  there  is  scarce  a 

;.>le  among  the  late  discovered  nations  who  are  not 
-ltd  up  in  an  opinion  that  heaven   is  the  habitation  of 
the  divinity  whom  they  worship. 

6.  As  in  Solomon's  temple  there  was  the  Sanctum  Sanc- 
torum, in  which  a  visible  glory  appeared  among  the  figures 
of  the  cherubims,  and  into  which  none  but  the  high-priest 
himself  was  permitted  to  enter,  after  having  made  an 
atonement  for  the  sins  of  the  people  ;  so,  if  we  consider 
this  whole  creation  as  one  great  'temple,   there  is  in  it 
the  Holy  of  Holies,  into  which  the  high-priest  of  our  sal- 
vation entered,  and  took  his  place  among  angels  and  arch- 
angels, after  having  made  a  propitiation  for  the  sins  of 
mankind. 

7.  With  how  much   skill  must  the  throne  of  God  be 
erected  ?  With  what  glorious  designs  is  that  habitation 
beautified,   which  is  contrived  and  built  by  him  who  in- 
spired Hiram  \rith  wisdom  ?  How  great  must  be  the  ma- 
jesty of  that  place,    where  the  whole  art  of  creation  has 
been  employed,  and  where  God  has  chosen  to  show  him- 
self in  the  most  magnificent  manner  ?  What  must  be  the 


and  English  Teacher  ^ASSISTANT.  183 

architecture  of  infinite  power  and  the  direction  of  divine 
wisdom  ?  A  spirit  cannot  but  be  transported  after  an  inef- 
fable manner  with  the  sight  of  those  objects,  which  were 
made  to  affect  him  by  that  Being  who  knows  the  inward 
frame  of  a  sou],  and  how  to  please  and  ravish  it  in  all  its 
most  secret  powers  and  faculties. 

8.  It  is  to  this  majestic  presence  of  God  we  may  apply 
those  beautiful  expressions  in  holy  writ :  Behold  even  to  the 
moon,  and  it  shineth  not  ;  yea^  the  stars  are   not  pure  in  his 
sight.     The  light  of  the   sun,   and  all  the  glories  of  the 
world  in  which  we  live,  are  but  as  weak  and  sickly  glim- 
merings, or  rather  darkness  itself,  in  comparison  of  those 
splendors  which  encompass  the  throne  of  God. 

9.  As  the  glory  of  this  place   is  transcendent  beyond 
imagination,  so  probably  is  the  extent   of  it.     There  is 
light  behind  light,    and  glory   within   glory.     How  far 
that   space  may  reach,  in  which   God  thus  appears  in 
perfect  majesty,  we  cannot  possibly  conceive.     Though 
it  is  Lot  infinite,    it  may  be  indefinite  ;  and  though  not 
immeasurable  in  itself,  it  may  be  so  with  regard  to  any 
created  eye  or  imagination.     If  he  has  made  these  lower 
regions  of  matter  so  inconceivably  wide   and  magnificent 
for  the  habitation  of  mortal  and  perishable  beings,   how 
great  may  we  suppose  the  courts  of  his  house  to  be,  where 
he  makes  his  residence  in  a  more  especial  manner,  and 
displays  himself  in  the  fulness  of  his  glory,  among  an  in- 
numerable company   of  angels,  and  spirits  of  just  men 
made  perfect ! 

10.  This  is   certain,   that  our  imaginations  cannot  be 
raised  too  high,  when  we  think  on  a  place  where  omni- 
potence and  omniscience  have  so  signally  exerted  them- 
selves,  because  that  they  are  able  to  produce  a  scene 
infinitely  more  great  and  glorious  than  what  we  are  able 
to  imagine. 

11.  It  is  not  impossible  but  at  the  consummation  of  all 
things,  these  outward  apartments  of  nature,  which  are 
now  suited  to  those  beings  w ho  inhabit  them,  may  be  taken 
in   and  added  to  that  glorious  place  of  which  I  am  here 
speaking  ;  and  by  that  means  made  a  proper  habitation  for 
beings  who  r.rc  exempt  from  mortality,  and  cleared  of  their 
imperfections :  for  so  the  scripture  seems  to  intimate,  when 
it  speaks  of  new  heavens  and  of  a  new  earth,   wherein 
dwelleth  righteousness. 


184      The  I'oimg  Gent:,  man  and  Lady's  MOKITSR, 

12.  I  have  only  considered  this  glorious  place  with  re- 
gard to  the  sight  and   imagination,    though,    it   is  highly 
probable,  that  our  other  senses  may  here  likewise  enjoy 
their  highest  gratifications.  There  is  nothing  which  more- 
ravishes 'and  transports  the   soul,  than  harmony  ;   and  we 
have  great  reason  to  believe,  from  the  description  of  this 

"place  in  holy  scriptures,   that  this  is  one  of  the  entertain- 
ments of  it. 

13.  And  if  the  soul  of  man  can  be  so  wonderfully  af- 
fected with  those  strains  of  music,  which  human  art  is  ca- 
pable of  producing,  how  much  more  will  it  be  raised  and 
elevated  by  those,  in  which  is  exerted  the  whole  power  of 
harmony  !  The  senses   are  faculties  of  the  human   soul, 
though    they   cannot  be   employed,  during  this  our  vital 
union,  without  proper  instruments  in  the  body. 

14.  Why   therefore  should  we  exclude  the  satisfaction 
of  these  faculties,  which  we  find  by  experience  are  inlets 
of  great  pleasure   to  the  soul,  from  among  those  enter- 
tainments which   are  to  make  our  happiness  hereafter  ? 
"Why  should  we  suppose  that  our  hearing  and  seeing  will 
j'.ct  be  gratified  by  those  objects  which  are  most  agreeable 
to  them,  and  which  they  cannot  meet  with  in  these  lower 
regions    of  nature  ;  objects  which  neither    eye   hath  *ctn 
r,.or  ear  heard)  nor  can  it  enter  into  the  heart  oj  man  to  con- 
ceive ! 

15.  I  knew  a  man  in  Christ  (says  St.  Paul,  speaking  of 
himself,)    abzve  fourteen  years  ego,    (whether  in  the  body* 
I  cannot  tell ;   or  whether  out  of  the  body  I  cannot  tell :    God 
knoweth)  such  a   one  caught  iifi  to  the  third  heaven.     And 
I  knew  sitc'i  a  -man  (whether  in    the  bod-i  or  cut  of  the  body^ 
I  cannot  tell :    God   knzweth)    how  that  he   was    caught  uji 
into  fiaradhe.  andt  heard  unspeakable    words,  which  it  is  not 
pcsdblefor  a  man  to  utter. 

1 6.  By  this  is  meant  that  what  he  heard  was  so  infinite- 
ly different   from  any  thing  which   he  had  heard   in  this 
World,  that  it  was  impossible  to  express  it  in  such  words  as 
iTMght  convey  a  notion  of  it  to  his  hearers. 

It  is  very  natural  for  us  to  take  delight  in  inquiries  con- 
cerning any  foreign  country,  where  we  are  some  time  or 
ether  to  make  our  abode  ;  and  as  we  all  hope  to  be  ad- 
mitted into  this  glorious  place,  it  is  both  laudable  and  use- 
ful curiosity,  to  get  what  information  we  can  of  it,  while 
\ve  make  use.  of  revelation' for  our  guide. 


and  English  7\ acker's  A^TSTAKT,  16J 

17,  When  these  everlasting  doors  shall  be  optned  to 
us,  we  miiy  be  sure  that  the  pleasures  and  beauties  of 
this  place  will  infinitely  transcend  our  present  hopes  and 
expectations,  and  that  the  glorious  appearance  of  the 
throne  of  God  will  rise  infinitely  beyond  whatever  we  are 
able  to  conceive  of  it.  W  ra  entertain  ourselves 

with  many  other  spccu' i  t.:iis  subject,  from  those 

several  hints  which  we  find  of  it  in  the  holy  scriptures  ; 
ES  whether  there    may  not   be  mansions  and 

Cipsrt-"1.  ;          "•  r;f  fVjffc'rent  natures  ;  wheth- 

er, a::  they  excel  one  another  in  perfection,  they  are  not 
•eel  nearer  to  the  thvon-2  of  the  Almighty,  and  enjoy 
ter  manff^statioris  df  .nee. 

Vv'heth-er  there  art:  not  solemn-  times  and  occa- 

i  all  the   TnuHi'ide    of  heaven  celebrate  the 

'.   in  r.ioi'j  extraordinary  forms  of 

.  ;   as  Mdam,  though  he  had  continued 

in  a  L:  -:e,  would  In  the  opinion  of  our  divines, 

•  y,  in  a  more  particular  man- 

of  the   seven.     These,  and  the  like 

e  jiiay  very  innocently  indulge,  so  long  as 

w:  rn'-.e   use  of  thaKi  to  inspire   us  with  a  desire   of  be- 

co'Tih^  inhabitants  of  this  delightful  place. 

19.  i  have  in  this,  and  in  the  two  foregoing  letters  treat-* 
t'd  on  the  most  serious  subject  that  can  employ  the  mind 
of  man,  the  omnipresence  of  the  Deity  ;  a  subject  which, 
if  possible,  should,   never   depart  from  our  meditations. 
We  have  considered  the  Divine  Being.,   as  he  inhabits  in- 
finitude, as  he  dwells  among  his  works,  as  he  is  present  to 
the  mind  of  man,  and  as  he  discovers  himself  in  a  more 
glorious  manner  among  the  regions  of  the  blest.     Such  a 
consideration  should  be  kept  awake  in  us  at  all  times,  and 
in  all  places,  and  possess  our  minds  with  a  perpetual  awe 
and  reverence. 

20.  It  should  be  interwoven  with  all  our  thoughts  and 
perceptions,   and  become   one  with  the  consciousness  of 
our  own  being.    It  is  not  to  be  reflected  on  in  the  coldness 
of  philosophy,  but  ought  to  sink  113  into  the  lowest  pror- 
t ration  before  hini,  v/ho-is  so  asioriifchipply  ereat,  wonder- 
ful, and  holy. 

Q  2 


185       TJic  Yowig  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

The  present  Life  to  be  considered  ^nly  as  it  may  conduce  to 
the  Happiness  of  a  future  one* 

SPECTATOR,  NO.  575. 

1.  /t  LEWD  young  fellow  seeing  an.  aged  hermit  go 
2.  \.  by  him  barefoot,  Father -,  says  he,  you  are  in  a  very 
miserable  condition,  if  there  is  not  another  world*  True,  so:1.} 
said  the  hermit  ;  but  what  is  thy  condition  if  there  is  ?  Man. 
is  a  creature  designed  for  two  different  states  of  being,  or 
rather  for  two  different  lives.  His  first  life  is  short  and 
transient ;  his  second  permanent  and  lasting. 

2.  The    question   we    are  all  concerned  in  is   this,  in 
which  of  these  two  lives  is  our  chief  interest  to  make  our- 
selves  happy  ?  or  in  other  words,  whether  we  should  en- 
deavor, to  secure  to  ourselves  the  pleasures  and  gratifica- 
tions of  a  life  which  is  uncertain  and  precarious,  and   at 
its  utmost  length  of  a  very  inconsiderable  duration  ;  or  to 
secure  to  ourselves  the  pleasures  of  a  life  that  is  fixed  and 
settled,  and  will  never  end  ?  Every  man,  upon    the  first 
hearing  of  this  question,  knows  very  well  which  side  of  it 
hi:  ought  to  close  with* 

3.  But  however  right  we  are  in  theory,  it  is  plain  that 
la  practice  we  adhere  to , the  wrong  side  of  the  question. 
We  make  provisions  for  this  life   as  though  it  were  neveK 
to  have  an  end,  and  for  the  other  life  as   though  it  were 
never  to  have  a  beginning. 

Should  a  spirit  of  superior  rank,  who  is  a  stranger  to. 
•Aiman  nature,  accidentally  alight  upon  the  earth,  and 
take  a  survey  of  its  inhabitants,  what  would  hia  notions  of* 
us  be  ? 

4.  Would  not  he  think  that  we  were  a  species  of  beings 
made  for  quite  different  ends  and  purposes  than  what  we 
really  are  ?   Must  not  he  imagine  that  we  were  placed  in 

•  this  world  to  get  riches  and  honors  ?  Would  not  he  think 
••that  it  was  our  duty  to  toil  after,  wealth,  and  station,  and 
title  !  Nay,  would  not  he  believe  we  were  forbidden  pov- 
erty by  threats  of  eternal  punishment,  and  enjoined  to 
pursue  our  pleasures  under  pain  of  damnation  ?  He  would 
certainly  imagine  that  we  were  influenced  by  a  scheme  of 
duties  quite  opposite  to  those  which  arc  indeed  prescribed 
to  us. 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  18? 

5.  And  truly,   according  to    such  an   imagination,  he 
must  conclude  that  we  are  a  species  cf  the  most  obedient 
creatures  in  the  universe  ;  that  we   are  constant  to  our 
duty  ;  and  that  we  keep   a  steady    eye  on  the  end   foi* 
which  we  were  sent  hither. 

But  how  great  would  be  his  astonishment,  when  he 
learnt  that  we  were  beings  not  designed  to  exist  in  this 
world  above  threescore  and  ten  years  ;  and  that  the  great- 
est part  of  this  busy  species  fall  short  even  of  that  age  ? 

6.  How  would  he  be  lost  in  horror  and   admiration, 
when  he  should  know  that  this  set  of  creatures,  who  lay 
out  all  their  endeavors  for  this  life,  which  scarce  deserves 
the  name  of  existence,  when  I  say  he  should  know  that 
this  set  of  creatures  are  to  exist  to  all  eternity  in  another 
life,  for  which  they  make  no  preparations  ? 

7.  Nothing  can  be  a  greater   disgrace  to  reason  than 
t-iat  men,  who  are  persuaded  of  these  two  different  state?; 
of  being,   should  be  perpetually  employed  in  providing 
for  a  life   of  threescore  and  ten  years,   and  neglecting  to 
make  provision  for  that,   which,  after  many  myriads  of 
years,   will  be   still  new,  and  still  be  gin  rung  ;  especially 
when  we    consider  that  our  endeavors   lor  making  our- 
selves great,  or  rich,  or  honorable,  or  whatever  else  we 
r.'uce  our  happiness  in,  may,  after  all,  prove  unsuccessful ; 
vhereas  if  we  constantly  and  sincerely  endeavor  to  make 
ourselves  happy  in  the  other  life,  we  are  sure  that  our  en- 
deavors will  succeed,  and  that  we  shall  not  be  disappoint- 
ed of  our  hope. 

8.  The  following   question    is  started  by   one  of  the 
schoolmen.     Supposing  the  whole  body  of  the  earth  were 
a  great  ball  or  mass  of  the  finest  sand,  and  that  a  single 
grain  or  particle  of  this  sand  should  be  annihilated  every 
thousand  years.     Supposing  then  that  you  had  it  in  your 
choice  to  be  happy  all  the  while  this  prodigious  mass  of 
sand  was  consuming  by  this  slow  method  till  there  was 
not  a  grain  of  it  left,  on  condition  you  were  to  be  misera- 
ble for  ever  after  ;  or  supposing  that  you  might  be  happy 
for  ever  after,  on  condition  you  would  be  miserable  till 
the  whole  mass  of  sand  were  thus  annihilated  at  the  rate 
of  one  sand  in  a  thousand  years  ;  which  of  these  two  cases 
would  you  make  your  choice  ? 

9.  It  must  be  confessed  in  this  case,  so  many  thousand 


i  S 3       Tiie  Young  Gentleman  and  L  \  V>T;  i  T  o ft y 

of  years  are  to  the  imagination  as  a  kind  of  eternity, 
though  in  reality  they  do  not  bear  so  great  a  proportion 
to  that  duration  which  is  to  follow  them,  as  an  unit  does 
to  the  greatest  number  which  you  can  put  together  in 
figures,  or  as  one  of  tho'^c  sand 3  to  the  supposed  heap. 
Ileasou  therefore  tells  us,  without  any  manner  cf  hes- 
itatim,  which  would  be  the  better  part  in  this  choice. 

10.  However,   as   I  have  before  intimated,  our  reason 
might  in  such  a  case  be  so  overset  by  the  imagination,  as< 
to  dispose  some  persons  to  sink  under  the  consideration 
of  the  great  length  of  the  first  part  of  this  duration,  and  of 
the  great   distance   of  that   second  duration,  which  is  to 
succeed  it.     The  mind,  I  say,  might  give  itself  up  to  that 
happiness  which  is  at  hand,  considering  that  it  is  so  very 
near,  and  that  it  would  last  so  very  long* 

11.  But  when  the  choice  we   actually  have  before  us, 
is  this,  whether  we  will  choose  to  be  happy  for  the  space 
of  only  threescore  and  ten,  nay,  perhaps  of  only   twenty 
or  ten  years  ;   I  might  say.  of  only  a  day  or  an   hour,  u:,u 
miserable  to  all  eternity  ;  or,  on  the  contrary,  miserable 
for  this  short  term  of  years,  and  happy  for  a  whole  eter- 
nity ;   what  words  are  sufficient  to  express  that  foil; 
want  of  consideration  which  in  such  a  case  makes  a  v, 
choice  ? 

12.  I  here  put  the  case  even  at  the  worst,  by  supp-v; 
(what  seldom  happens)  that  a  course  of  virtue   makes  u  i- 
miserable  in  this  life  :  but  if  we  suppose  (as  it  generally 
happens)   that  virtue  will  make  us   more  happy  even   in 
this  life  than  a  contrary  course  of-  vice  ;.  how  can  we  suf- 
ficiently admire  the  stupidity  or  madness  of  those  persons. 
who  are  capable  of  making  so  absurd  a  choice  ? 

13.  Every    wise  man,  therefore,  will  consider  this  life 
only  as  it  may  conduce  to  the  happiness  of  the  other,  a~  .1 
cheerfully  sacrifice  the  pleasures  of  a  few  years  to  those 
$f  an  eternity. 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  139 

On  the  Immortality  of  the  Soul. 

SPECTATOR,  NO.  111. 

I.  T  WAS  yesterday  walking  alone  in  one  of  my  friend's 
JL  woods,  and  lost  myself  in  it  very  agreeably,  as  I 
was  running  over  in  my  mind  the  several  arguments  that 
establish  this  great  point,  which  is  the  basis  of  morality, 
and  the  source  of  all  the^  pleasing  hopes  and  secret  joys 
that  can  arise  in  the  heart  of  a  reasonable  creature. 

2.  I  consider  those   several  proofs  drawn,   First,  from 
the  nature  of  the  soul  itself,   and  particularly  its  immate- 
riality ;  which,  though  not    absolutely  necessary  to  the 
eternity  of  its  duration,  has,  I  think,  been  evinced  to  al- 
most a  demonstration. 

Secondly,  from  its  passions  and  sentiments,  as  particu- 
larly from  its  love  of  existence,  its  horror  of  annihilation, 
and  its  hopes  of  immortality,  with  that  secret  satisfaction 
which  it  finds  in  the  practice  of  virtue,  and  that  uneasiness 
which  follows  in  it  upon  the  commission  of  vice. 

3.  Thirdly,  from  the  nature   of  the  Supreme   Being, 
whose  justice,  goodness,  wisdom  and  veracity,  are  all  con- 
cerned in  this  point. 

But  among  these  and  other  excellent  arguments  for  the 
immortality  of  the  soul,  there  is  one  drawn  from  the  per- 
petual progress  of  the  soul  to  its  perfection,  without  a  pos- 
sibility of  ever  arriving  at  it  ;  which  is  a  hint  that  I  da 
not  remember  to  have  seen  opened  and  improved  by  oth- 
ers who  have  written  on  this  subject,  though  it  seems  to 
me  to  carry  a  very  great  weight  with  it. 

4.  How  can  it  enter  into  the  thoughts  of  man,  that  the 
soul  which  is  capable  of  such  immense  perfections,  and  of 
receiving  new  improvements  to  all  eternity,    shall    fail 
away  into  nothing  almost  as   soon  as  it  is  created  ?   are 
such  abil'ties  made  for  no  purpose  ?  A  brute  arrives  at  a 
point  of  perfection  that  he  can  never  pass  :  in  a  few  years 
he  lias  all  the  endowments  he  is  capable  of;    and  were  he 
to  live  ten  thousand  more,  would  be  the  same  thing  he  is 
at  present. 

.0.  Were  a  human  soul  thus  at  a  stand  in  her  accom- 
plishments, were  her  faculties  to  be  full  blown,  and  inca- 
ruble  of  farther  enlargements,  1  could  imagine  it  might 


190      The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MOI^ITOR, 

iall  away  insensibly,  and  drop  at  once  into  a  state  of  anni- 
hilation. 

6.  But  can  we  believe  a  thinking  being  that  is  in  a 
perpetual  progress  of  improvements,  and  travelling  on 
from  perfection  to  perfection,  after  having  just  looked 
abroad  into  the  works  of  its  Creator,  and  made  a  few- 
discoveries  of  his  infinite  goodness,  wisdom,  and  power, 
must  perish  at  her  first  setting  out,  and  in  the  very  begin- 
ning of  her  inquiries  ? 

A  man,  considered  in  his  present  state,  seems  only  sent 
into  the  world  to  propagate  his  kind.  He  provides  him- 
self with  a  successor,  and  immediately  quits  his  post  to 
make  room  for  him. 


— , Heres 

Hcredem  alteriusy  ~vclut  unda  sufiei~venit  undam. 

HOR.  Ep.  2.  1.2.  v.  ir.5%. 


Heir  crouds  heir,  as  in  a  rolling  flood 


Wave  urges  wave.  CREECH. 

7.  He  does  not  seem  born  to  enjoy  life,  but  to  deliver 
it  down  to  others.     This  is  not  surprising  to  consider  in 
animals,  which  are  formed  for  our  use,  and  can  finish  their 
business  in  a  short  life.     The  silk  worm,  after  having  spun 
her  task,  lays  her  eggs,  and  dies.     But  a  man  can  never 
have  taken  in  his  full  measure  of  knowledge,  has  not  time 
to  subdue  his  passions,  establish  his  soul  in  virtue,  and 
come  up  to  the  perfection  of  his  nature,  before  he  is  hur- 
ried off  the  stage. 

8,  Would  an  infinitely  wise  Being  make  such  glorious 
creatures  for  so  mean  a  purpose  ?  Can  he  delight  in  the 
production  of  such  abortive  intelligences,  such  short-lived 
reasonable  beings  ?  Would  he  give  us  talents  that  are  not 
to  be  exerted?  capacities  that  are  never  to  be  gratified  ? 
Plow  can  we  find  that  wisdom  which  shines  through  all 

.his  works,  in  the  formation  ofman>  without  looking  on 
this  world  as  only  a  nursery  for  the  next,  and  believing 
that  the  several  generations  of  rational  creatures,  which 
rise  up  and  disappear  in  such  quick  successions,  are  only 
to  receive  their  first  rudiments  of  existence  here,  and  af- 
icr.vards  to  be  transplanted  into  a  more  friendly  climate, 
where  they  may  spread  and  flourish  to  all  eternity. 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  191 

9.  There  is  not  in  my  opinion,  a  more  pleasing  and 
triumphant  consideration  in  religion  than  this  of  the  per- 
petual progress  which  the  soul  makes  toward  the  perfec- 
tion of  its  nature,  without  ever   arriving  at  a  period  in 
it.     To  look  upon  the  soul  as  going  on  from  strength  to 
strength,  to  consider  that  she  is  to  shine  for  ever  with  new 
accessions  of  glory,  and  brighten  to  all  eternity  ;  that  she 
will  be  still    adding  virtue  to   virtue,    and  knowledge  to 
knowledge  ;  carries  in  it  something  wonderfully  agreeable 
to  that  ambition  which  is  natural  to  the  mind  of  -nan. 
Nay,  it  must  be  a  prospect  pleasing  to  God  himself,  to  see 
his  creation  for  ever  beautifying  in  his  eyes,  and  drawing 
nearer  to  him,  by  greater  degrees  of  resemblance. 

10.  Methinks  this  single  consideration,  of  the  progress 
of  a  finite  spirit  to  perfection,  will  be   sufficient  to  extin- 
guish all  envy  in  inferior  natures,  and  all  contempt  in  su- 
perior.    That  cherubim  which  now  appears  as  a  God  to  a 
human  soul,  knows  very  well  that  the  period  will  come 
about  in  eternity  when  the*  human  soul  shall  be  as  perfect 
as  he  himself  now  is  :  nay,  when  he  shall  look  down  up- 
on that  degree  of  perfection  as  much  as  she  now  falls  short 
of  it.     It  is  true,  the  higher  nature  still  advances,  and  by 
that  means  preserves  his  distance    and  superiority  in  the 
scale  of  being  ;  but  he  knows  that,  how  high  soever  the 
station  is  of  which  he  stands  possessed  at  present,  the  in- 
ferior nature  will  at  length  mount  up  to  it,  and  shine 
forth  in  the  same  degree  of  glory. 

11.  With  what  astonishment  and  veneration    may  -we 
look  into   our   own  soul,  where  there  are  such  hidden 
stores  of  virtue  and  knowledge,  such  inexhausted  sources 
of  perfection  !  We  know   not  yet  what  we  shall  be,  nor 
\vill  it  ever  enter  into  the  heart  of  man  to  conceivc-thc 
glory  that  will  be  always  in  reserve  for  him.     The  soul 
considered  with  its  Creator,  is  like  one  of  those  mathemat- 
ical lines  that  may  draw  nearer  to  another  for  all  eternity, 
without  a  possibility  of  touching  it  :  and  can  there  be  a 
thought  so  transporting,  as  to  consider  ourselves  in  these 
perpetual  approaches  to  him,  who  is  not  only  the  stand- 
ard of  perfection  but  of  happiness  ! 


192       The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 
On  the  Animal  World,  and  the  scale  of  Beings. 

SPECTATOR,  No.  519. 

l.npl-IOUGH  there  is  a  great  deal  of  pleasure  in 
JL  contemplating  the  material  world,  by  which  I 
mean  that  system  of  foodies  into  which  nature  has  so  cu- 
riously wrought  the  mass  of  dead  matter,  with  the  sever- 
al relations  which  those  bodies  bear  to  one  another  ;  there 
is  stiil,  methinks,  something  more  wonderful  and  surpris- 
ing in  contemplations  on  the  world  of  life,  by  which  I  mean 
all  those  animals  with  which  every  part  of  the  universe  is 
furnished. 

The  material  world  is  only  the   shell  of  the  universe  : 
the  world  of  life  are  its  inhabitants. 

2.  If  we  consider  those  parts  of  the  material  world 
which  lie  the  nearest  to  us,   and  are  therefore   subject  to 
our  observation   and  inquiries,  it  is  amazing  to  consider 
the  infinity  of  animals  with  which  it  is  stocked.     Every 
part  of  matter  is  peopled  :  every  green  leaf  swarms  with 
inhabitants.     There  is  scarce  a  single  humor  in  the  body 
of  a  man,  or  of  any  other  animal,  in  which  our  glasses 
do  not  discover  myriads  of  living  creatures. 

3.  The  surface  of  animals,  is  also  covered  with  other 
animals,  which  are  in  the  same  manner  the  basis  of  other 
animals  that  live  upon  it ;  nay,  we  find  in  the  most  solid 
bodies,  as  in  marble  itself,  innumerable  cells  and  cavities, 
that  are  cronded  with  such  imperceptible  inhabitants,  as 
are  too  little  for  the  naked  eye  to  discover.     On  the  other 
hand,  if  we  look  into  the  more  bulky  parts  of  nature,  we 
see  the   seaS,  lakes  and  rivers  teeming  with  numberless 
kinds  of  living  creatures  ;  we  find  every  mountain  and 
marsh,   wilderness    and   wTood,    plentifully   stocked  with 
birds  and  beasts,  and  every  part  of  matter  affording  prop- 
er necessaries  and  conveniences  for  the  livelihood  of  mul- 
titudes which  inhabit  it. 

4.  The  author  of  the  Plurality  of  Worlds  draws  a  very 
goood  argument  from  this  consideration,  for  the  periling 
of  every  planet :  as  indeed  it  seems  very  probable,   from 
the  analogy  of  reason,  that  if  no  part  of  matter,  which  we 
are  acquainted  with,  lies  waste  and  useless,  those  great 
bodies,  which  are  at  such  a  distance  from  us?   should 


and  JZ?r,-.'        '.  vr.  :  >  I 

not  be  desert  and  unpeopled'?  but  li/.her  that  they  t; 

be  furnished  willi  beings   adapted  to  their  respective  sil- 

nation. 

o.  Existence  is   a  blessing  to  those  beings  crJy  which 
are  endowed  with  perception,  and  is  in  a  manner  thrown 
away  upon  dead  matter,  any  farther  than  as  it  is  s»..~ 
vient  to  beings  which  are   conscious  of  their  existence* 

Accordingly  we  find,   from  the  bodies  which  I 
our  observation,  that  matter  is  only  made  as  the  ba^is  and 
support  of  animals,  and  that  there  is  no  more  of  the  one, 
than  what  is  necessary  for  the  existence  of  the  other. 

6.  Infinite  goodness  is  of  so  communicative  n  nal 
that  it.  seems   to  delight  in   the   conferring  of  exi?r 

\  ;;<>n  every  degree  of  perceptive  being.     As  this  is  a  spec- 
ulation, which  I  have  often  pursued  with  great  pleasure  to 
myself,  I  shall  enlarge  further  upon  it,  by  considering 
part  of  the  scale  of  beings  which  comes  within  our  know- 

7.  There   are   some  living  creatures  which  rre  raised 
ust  above  dead  matter.     To  mention  only  that   spe- 
cies of  shell-fish  which  are  formed  in  the  fashion  of  A  cone, 
that  grow  to  the  surface  of  several  rocks  and  irnniet!:. 

die  upon  their  being  severed  from  the 

grow:   t*; ere  are  many  other  creatures   but  o: 

from  these,  which  have  no-other  sense  uesi. 

ing  and  table.     Others  have  still  an  additional  one  of  hci'.r- 

ing  ;  others  of  smell ;  and  other-:. 

8.  It  is  wonderful    to   observe, 
gress  the  world  of  L 

ely  of  species,  before  a  c 
:A)  all  ils  senses  ;   and  &v 

•ont  degree  of  peiiiiction  in  t] 
mal  enjoys  beyond  what  apr 
sense   in  different   animals  a 
common   denovnination}   it  seetiyS   almobt  of  a 
;ire. 

9.  If  after  this  we  look   into   the  scsv-.:  fns  of 
cunning  and  sagacity,  or  what  v...  :-tinct, 
we  find  them  rising  aftcn1  the- 

one  above  another,  and  reeeivii 
according  to  t! 


UU       The  You-    :  Lady's  MONITOR, 

This  progress  in  nature  is  so  very  gradual,  that  the 
most  perfect  of  an  inferior  species  comes  very  near  to  the 
most  imperfect  of  that  which  is  immediately  above  it. 

10.  The  exuberant  and  overflowing  goodness  of  the 
Supreme  Iking,  \vhose  mercy  extends  to  all  his  works, 
is  plainly  seen,  as  I  have  before  hinted,  from  his  having 
made  so  very  little  matter,  at  least  vrhnt  falls  within  OUT 
knowledge,  that  dees  not  swarm  with  life,  nor  is  his 
goodness  less  seen  in  the  diversity,  than  in  the  multitude 
of  living  creatures.  Had  he  only  made  one  species  of 
animals,  none  of  the  rest  would  have  enjoyed  the  happi- 
ness 6f  existence  :  he  has  therefore  specified  in  his  creation 
every  degree  of  life,  every  capacity  of  being- 

!  1,  The  whole,  chasm  of  nature,  from  a  plant  to  a  man, 
is  filled  up  with  divers  kinds  of  creatures,  rising  one 
over  another,  by  such  a  gentle  and  easy  ascent,  that  the 
little  transitions  and  deviations  from  one  species  to  an- 
other are  almost  insensible.  This  intermediate  space  is 
so  well  husbanded  and  managed,  that  there  is  scarce  a 
degree  of  perception  which  dees  not  appear  in  some  one 
part  of  the  \voricl  of  life.  Is  the  goodness,  or  wisdom 
of  the  Divine  Being,  more  manifested  in  this  his  pro- 
ceed'. 

12.  There  is  a  consequence,   besides  those    I   have  al- 
ready mentioned,    which   seems  very  naturally  deduclUe 
from   the  forgoing  considerations.     If  the  scale  of  being 
rises  by  such  a  rf:^:hr  progress,  so  high  as  man,  we  may 
by  a  parity  of  reason  suppose  that  it  still  proceeds  gradu- 
ally through  those  beings  which  are  of  a  superior  nature 
to  him  ;  since  there  is  an  infinitely  greater  space  and  room 
for  different   degrees  of  perfection   between  the  Supr-jrae 
Ikiner  and  nuu);  than  between  man  uncl  the  most  despica- 
ble insect. 

13.  The   consequence  of   so  great  a  variety   of  beings 
which    are    superior  to  ui  .hat  variety  which    is  in- 
ferior to  us,  i*  m'ad  «*>  in  a  pussage  which  I 
shall  here  set  r  premised  that  notwith- 

i  m  between  man  und  his 
.-  exert  ituelf  in,  it  is  im- 


jhesi 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT. 

14.  That  there  should  be  more  r.pecits  ofinidli^c. 
lures  above  us,  than  there  (ire  of  zenaille  and  matcri 
us,  is  probable  to  me  from  hence  ;  that  in  all  the  ins 

poreal  world,  we  see  no  chasms,  or  ?w  gap$>     M  ••; 

from  us,  the  descent  is  by  easy  step^-and  a  • 

cf  things,  that  in  each  remove   •.     ' 

ether.      There  are  fishes  that  / 

gers  to  the   airy  region:  andi/icr.  \ebirds 

inhabitants  of  the  water  ;  whose  fa  '••"•  cold  t 

and  theirflesh  so  like  in  taste,  that  the  vcrupuktts  an. 

them  on  fish  days. 

15.  There    are  animal?,  so  near  of  kin   bo?:. 
beasts,  that  they  are  in    i  between    Itih  , 
bious  animals  link  the  ttrr. 

*fNie  at  land  and  at  sea,    C 

and  entrails  of  a  hog  ;  not  to 

reported  of  mermaid*  cr   i:tG-~-  are  AC;;. 

that  seem  to  have  as   much  knowledge,  and  reason. 

that  are  called  men  :  and  the  animal  and 

are  so  nearly  joined,  that  if  yon   •: 

and  the  highest   ofiheo-hcr,    <~ 

any  great  difference  between  them  ; 

the-  lowest  and  the  niost  inorgc' 
find  every  where  that  the  scvc?  i  ' 

and  differ  but  in  almost  imcnsic-l?  d 

1 6.  And  when  we  consider  tht 
of  the  Maker,   we  have  reason  t 

the  magnificent  harmony  ofih?  universe,  and  the  great  design 
and  infinite  goodness  of  the  architect,  that  the  species  of 
creatures  zhoulil  also,  by  gentle  degrees  ascend  ufiivardfroin 
its  toward  h?s  infinite  perfection,  a$  we  $ec  they  gradually 
descend  from  :.  vard:  which  if  it  be  probable,  we 

ha\'c  rzason  then  to  be  tierzvaded,  that  there  are  far  wore 
species  of  creatures  above  us  than  there  are  beneath  ;  we 
being  in  degrees  of  perfection  much  more  remote  from  the 
infinite  Being  of  God,  than  we  are  from  the  lowest  state 
of  being,  and  that  which  ajijiroaches  nearest  to  nothing. 
And  yet  of  all  those,  distinct  species,  we  have  no  char 
distinct  idea?,, 

17.  In  this   system   of  being,  there  is  no  creature  so 
\yondeviulin  its  nature,  arid  which  so  much  deserves  our 
particular   attention,  as   man,    who  fills   up  the  middle 


vnd  I. cay's  MONITOR, 

tween   the  animal  and  intellectual  nature,    the 

visible   and    invisible  world,  and  is  that  link  in  the  chain 

of  beings  which  has  been  often   termed  the   Nexus  utri- 

:i*que  luinitii.     So  that  he  who  in  one  respect  is  associated 

•v'uh  angels  and   archangels,    may  look  upon  a  Being  of 

tc  perfection  as  his  father,  and  the  highest  order  of 

s  as   his  brethren  ;   may  in  another  respect  say  to 

•..*z<??>,  thcu  art  my  fat  her  y  ami   to  l  he  worm,  thou  art 

•:stcr. 


Prr.  roved  from  Amrfizi  Instinct. 

SPECTATOR,  NO.  120. 

I.  T  MUST  confess  I  am  infinitely  delighted  with  those 
JL  speculations  of  r*ature  which   are  to  be  made  irj  a 
country  life  ;   nnd    as  my   reading   has  very   much   lain 
among  books  of  natural   history,  I  cannot  forbear  recoli 
lecthig,  upon  this  occasion,   the  several  remarks  which  I 
met    with   in   authors,  and  comparing  them  with. 
v,hat  falls  under  my  own  observation  ;   the  arguments  for 
Providence  drawn  from  the  natural  history  of  animals  be- 
ing in  my  opinion,  demonstrative. 

2.  The  make  of  every  kind  of  animal  is  different  from 
that  of  every  other  kind  ;   and   there   is  not  the  least  turn- 
in  the  muscles  or  twist  in  the  fibres  of  any  one,  which, 
does  not  render  them  more  proper  for  that  particular  ani- 
mal's way  of  life  than  any  other  cast  or  texture  of  them 
would  have  been. 

The  most  violent  appetites  in  all  .creatures  are  lust  and 
hunger :  the  first  is  a  perpetual  call  upon  them  to  propa- 
gate their  kind,  the  latter  to  preserve  the; rnselves. 

3.  It  is   astonishing  to   consider  the  different  degrees 
of  care  that   descend  from  the  parent  to   the  young,   so 
far  as  is  absolutely  necessary  for  the  leaving1  a  posterity* 
Some  creatures   cast  their  eggs  as   chance   directs  them, 
and  think  of  them  no  farther,  as  insects,  and  several  kinds 
of  fish  ;  others,  of  a  nicer  frame,  find  out  proper  beds  to 
deposit  them   in,    and  there  leave  them,  as  the  serpent^ 
the  crocodile,   and  ostrich  ;  others  hatch  their  eggs  and 
tend  the  birth  till  it  is  able  to  shift  for  it-; 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  197 

4.  What  can  we  call  the  principle  which  directs  every 
different  kind   of  bird  to  observe  a  particular  plan   in  tlie 
structure  of  its  nest,  and  directs  all  of  the  same  species  to 
work  after  the  same  model  ?   It  cannot  be    imitation  ;   for 
though  you  hatch  a  crow  under  a  hen,  and  never  let  it  see 
any  of  the, works  of  its  own  kind,  the  nest  it  makes  shall 
be  the  same  to  the   laying  of  a    stick,    with  all  the  other 
nests  of  the  same  species.     It  cannot  be  reason  ;  for  were 
animals  endued  with  it  to  as  great  a  degree  as  man,  their 
buildings   would  be  as  different  as  ours,  according  to  the 
different  conveniences  that  they  would  propose  to  them- 
selves. 

5.  Is  it  not  remarkable,  that,  the   same  temper  of  wea- 
ther, .which  raises  this  general  warmth  in  animals,  should 
cover  the  trees  with  leaves,  and  the  fields  with  grass,    foi1 
their  security  and  concealment,  and  produce  such  infinite 
swarms  of  insects  for  the  support  and  sustenance  of  their 
respective  broods  ? 

Is  it  not  wonderful  that  the  love  of  the  parent  should  be,, 
so  violent  while  it  lasts,  and  that  it  should  last  no  longer 
than  is  necessary  for  the  preservation  of  the  young  ? 

6.  With  what  caution   does  the  hen  provide  herself  a 
nest  in  places  unfrequented,  and  free  from  noise  and  dis- 
turbance ?   When  she  has  laid  her  eggs  in  such  a  manner 
that  she  can  cover  them,  what  care  does  she  take  in  turn- 
ing them  frequently,  that  all  parts  may  partake  of  the  vital 
warmth  ?   When  she   leaves  th-rn,  to  provide  for  her  ne- 
cessary sustenance,  how  punctually  does  she  return  before 
they  have  time  to  cool,    and   become  incapable  of  produ- 
cing an  animal  ?   In  the  summer,  you  see  her  giving  her- 
self greater  freedoms,  and  quitting'  her  care  for°abqve  i\vo 
hours  together;  but,   in   winter,    when    the  rieor  of  the 
season  would  chill  the  principles  of  life,  and  destroy  the 
young  one,   she  gro  :;  in  her  attendance, 
and  stays  a\vay  but  half  the  time. 

7.  When  the  birth  approaches,  with  how  much. nicety 
and  attention  does  she  help  the  chick  to  break  its  prison  '? 
Not  to  take  notice  of  her  cov-  the  injuries  of 
lue  weather,  provid::;                                    hrnent,   iuul  tei  ch- 

to  help  itself -not  torn  sakipg  the  nest, 

the; usual  lime  of  ,  young  one  dces 

not  make  its  appsarancx*.     A  chymical   operation  could 


IDS       The  Your.tf  Gentleman- and  Jsi-.iy's  M.oci  roA.:, 

not  be  followed  with  greater  art  or  diligence,  than  is  seen 
in  the  hatching  of  a  chick  ;  though  there  are  many  other 
birds  that  show  an  infinitely  greater  sagacity  in  all  the: 
fore-mentioned  particulars. 

8.  But  at  the  same  time    the  hen,   that  has  all   thk 
seeming  ingenuity    (which  is  indeed  absolutely  necessary 
tor  the  propagation  of  the  species)  considered  in   other 
respects,  is  without  the  least  glimmerings  of  thought  or 
common    sense.     She   mistakes  a  piece  of  chalk  for  an 
egg,  and  sits  upon  it  in -the  same  manner  ;  she  is  insen- 
sible of  any  increase  or  diminution  in  the  number  of  those 
she  lays  :   she  does  not  distinguish   between   her  own  arid 
those  of  another  species  ;  and   when  the  birth  appears  of. 
ever  so  different  a  bird,  will  cherish  it  for  her  own.    In  all 
these  circumstances,  which  do  not  carry  an  immediate  re- 
gard to  the  subsistence  of  herself  or  her  species,  she  is  a 
very  idiot. 

9.  There  is  not,  in  my  opinion,  any  thing  more  mys- 
terious in  nature  than  this  instinct  in  animals,  which  thus 
rises  above  reason,  and  falls  infinitely  short  of  it.     It  can- 
not be  accounted  for  by  any   properties  in  matter,  and  at 
the  same  time  works  after  so  odd  a  manner,  that  one  can- 
not think  it  the  faculty  of  an  intellectual  being.     For  my 
cwn  part-  I  look  upon  it  as  upon  the  principle  of  gravita- 
tion in  bodies,  which  is  not  lobe  explained  by  any  known 
qualities  inherent  in  the  bodies  themselves,   nor  from  any 
laws  in  mechanism  ;  .but,  according  to  the  best  notions  of 
the  greatest  philosophers,   is   an    immediate    impression-, 
frorn'the  first  mover,    and  the  divine    energy  acting  in 
the  creature, 


Good  Breeding. 

I. /COMPLAISANCE  renders  a  superior  amiable. 
V>4  an  equal  agreeable,  and  an  inferior  acceptable.  It: 
smooths  distinction,  sweetens  conversation,  and  makes 
every  one  in  the  company  pleased  with  himself.  It  pro- 
duces good  nature  and  mutual  benevolence,  encourages, 
the  timorous,  sooths  the  turbulent,  humanizes  the  fierce, 
and  distinguishes  a  society  of  civilized  persons  from  a  con- 
fusion of  ravages.  In  a  word,  complaisance  is  a  virtue  that 


and  English  Teach er's  ASSISTANT.  199 

blends  all  orders  of  men.  together  in  a  friendly  intercourse 
of  words  and  actions,  and  is  suited  to  that  equality  in  hu- 
man nature  which  every  one  ought  to  consider,  so  far  as 
is  consistent  with  the  order  and  ceconomy  of  the  world. 

2.  If  we  could  look  into  the  secret  aot:,uishand  afflic- 
tion  of  every   man's   heart,  we   should  often  find,   that 
more  of  it  arises  from  little  imaginary  distresses,  such  as 
checks,  fr6wns,  contradictions,  expressions  of  contempt, 
and  (what'«S#&fa?a/z#0r£  reckons  among  other  evils  under 
the  sun) 

" -.  The  poor  man's  contumely, 

"  The  insolence  of  office,  and  the  spurns 
"  That  patient  merit  of  the  unworthy  takes," 

than  from  the  more  real  pains  and  calami  ties  of  life.  The 
only  method  to  remove  these  imaginary  distresses  as 
much  as  possible  out  of  human  life,  would  be  the  univer- 
sal practice  of  such  an  ingenious  complaisance  as  I  have 
been  here  describing,  which,  as  it  is  a  virtue,  may  be  de- 
fined to  be  a  "  constant  endeavor  to  please  those  whom  we 
w  converse  with,  so  far  as  we  may  do  it  innocently." 

3.  Good  breeding  necessarily  implies  civility  ;  but  civ- 
ility does  not  reciprocally  imply  good  breeding*     The 
former  has  its  intrinsic  weight  and  value,  which  the  lalter 
always  adorns,  and  often  doubles  by  its  vrorkrn anshi'p. 

To  sacrifice  one's  own  self-love  to  other  people's  is  a 
short,  but  I  believe  a  true  definition  of  civility  :  to  do  it 
vvlth  ease,  propriety  and  grace,  is  good  breeding.  The 
one  is  the  result  of  good  nature  ;  the  other  of  good  seiise, 
joined  to  experience;  observation,  and  attention. 

4.  A  ploughman  will  be  civil,  if  he  is  good  n stirred,  but 
cannot  be  well  bred.     A  courtier  will  be  well  bred  though 
perhaps  without  good  nature,  if  he  has  but  p,;ood  sense, 
r  lattery  is  the  disgrace  of  good  breeding,   as  brutality  of- 
ten is  of  truth  and  sincerity.     Good  breeding  is  the  mid- 
dle point  between  those  two  odious  extremes. 

Ceremony  is  the  superstition  of  good  breeding,  as  veil 
as  of  religion  ;  but  yet,  being  an  out-work  to  both, 
should  not  be  absolutely  demolished-  It  is  always  to  a 
certain  degree,  to  be  complied  with,  though  despised  by 
th  yj  who  think,  because  admired  and  rtbpecttd  by  these 
v/ho  do  not. 


200      The  Young1  Gentleman  and  Ladifs  MONITOR, 

5.  The  most  perfect  degree  of  good  breeding,  as  I  have- 
already  hinted,  is  only  to  be  acquired  by  great  knowledge 
of  the   world,  and  keeping  the  best  company.     It  is  not 
the  object  of  mere  speculation,  ami  cannot  be  exactly  de- 
fined, as  it  consists  in  a  fitness,  a  propriety   of  words,   ac- 
tions and  even   looks,  adapted  to  the  infinite  variety  and 
combinations  of  persons,  places  and  things.     It  is  a  mode, 
not  a  substance  ;  for  what  is  good  breeding  at  St.  James's 
would  pass  for  foppery  or  banter  in  a  remote  village  ;  and 
the  homespun  civility  of  that  village  would  be  considered 
as  brutality  at  court. 

6.  A  cloistered  pedant  may  form  true  notions  of  civil- 
ity  ;  but  if  amidst  the  cobwebs  of  his  cell  he  pretends  to 
spin  a  speculative  system  of  good  breeding,  he  will  not  be 
less  absurd  than  his   predecessor,  who  judiciously  under- 
took to   instruct  Hannibal  in  the   art  of  war.     The  most 
ridiculous  and  most    aukward  of  men  are,  therefore,  the 
speculatively  well  bred  monks  of  all  religions  and  all  pro- 
fessions. 

7.  Good  breeding,  like  charity,  not  only  covers  a  mul- 
titude of  faults,  but,  to  a  certain  degree,  supplies  the  want 
of  some   virtues.     In  the   common  intercourse  of  life,  it 
acts   good   nature,  and   often  does  what  good  rat  ere  vill 
not  always  do  ;  it  keeps  both  wits-  and  fools  within  those 
bounds  of  decency  which  the  former  are  too  apt  to  trans- 
gress, and  which  the  latter  never  know.     Courts  are   un- 
questionably the  seats  of  good  breeding,  and  must  neces- 
sarily be  so  ;   otherwise  thty   would  be  the  seats   of  vio- 
lence and  desolation.     There  all  the  passions  are  in  their 
highest  state  of  fermentation* 

8.  All  pursue  what  but  few  can  obtain,  and  many  seek 
•what. but  one  can  enjoy.     Good  breeding  alone  restrains, 
th.rir  excesses.     There,  if  enemies  did  not  embrace  they- 
•tvouM'sUib.-    There,  smiles  are   often  put  on  to   conceal 
tears.     There,  mutual  services  art-  professed,  while  mu- 
ttn.l  injuries  are  intended  ;  ond.  thv-r-,  fhe  guile  of  the  ser- 
pent simulates  the   gentlents^  of  the  clove  ;   all  this,  it  is< 
true,  at  the  expense  of  sirr« -.rity  ;  but  upon  the  whole,  to- 
the  advantage  of  social  it  .  ;.r  ntral. 

9.  I    would  not  be    \r-'  :•   and  supposed  to. 
recommend    -.rood                      thus  profaned    ;«nr!  prosti- 
tuted to  the  purpob-.s  of  ^uilt  and  perfidy  j  but  I  think 


mndr-lLngftsh  Tt ~cchcr*s  ASSISTANT.  £01 

UM  justly  infer  from  it,  lo  what  a  degree  the  accom- 
plishment of  good  breeding  must  adorn  and  inforce  virtue 
and  truth,  when  it  can  thus  soften  the  outrages  and  defor- 
mity of  vice  and  falsehood.  I  am  sorry  to  he  obliged  to 
confess,  that  my  native  country  is  not  perhaps  the  seat 
of  the  most  perfect  good  breeding,  though  I  really  believe, 
that  it  yields  to  none  in  hearty  and  sincere  civility,  as  far 
as  civility  is  (and  to  a  certain  degree  it  is)  an  inferior 
moral  duty  of  doing  as  one  would  be  done  by. 

10.  If  France  exceeds   us    in   that  particular,    the  in- 
comparable author  of  LSEsjmt  dcs  Loix  accounts  for  it 
very   impartially,    and    I    believe    very   truly.     "  If  my 
i;  countrymen,  says  he,   are  the  best  bred  people  in  the 
il  world,  \b  is  only  because  they  are  the  vainest."     It  is 
certain    that  their  good  breeding   and  attention,    by   flat- 
tering the  vanity  and  self-love  of  others,  reppy  their  own 
with  interest.     It   is  a  general  commerce  usefully  carried 
on  by  a  barter  of  attentions,  and  often   without  one  grain 
of  solid  merit,   by  way  of  medium,  to  make  up  the  bal- 
ance. 

11.  It  were  to  be  wished   that   good  breeding  were  in 
t^neral  thought  a  more  essential  part  of  the  education  of 
our  youth,   especially  of  distinction,  than   at  present   it 
seems  to  be.     It  might  even  be  substituted  in  the  room  of 
some  academical  studiesjthat  take  up  a  great  deal  of  thru 
to  very  little  purpose  ;  or,  at  least,  it  ?v:ii:;ht  usefully  share 
some  of  those  many  hours,  that  are  so  frequently  employed 
upon  a  coach  box,  or  in  stables.     Surely  those,   who  by 
their  rank  and  fortune  are  called  to  adorn  courts,  ought  at 
least  not  to  disgrace  them  by  their  ir;  n  ; .  .  - 

12.  But   I  observe   with  concev  is  the  fashion 
for  our  youth  of  both  sexes  to  brand  i;o  g  v.  lib  the 
mme  of  ceremony  and  formality.     A                   ;/  lidicule 
and  explode  it, >jid  adopt  in  its   ^                       ^ViVec^ire- 
Jessness  and  inattention,  to  the  dif;               ,  I  will  vcnUrre 

n  of  their  own  pleasures,  if  they  know  what  true 
•in.'S  are.     Love  and  friendship  necessarily  produce, 
Justly  authorize  familiarity  ;  but  then  good  bre. 
must  mark  out  its  bounds,  and  say,  thus  far  shah  thou  p;o, 
and  no  farther  ;   for  I  have   known    many  a  passion  and 
many   a  friendship,  degraded.,  weakened,   and  at  last  (if  I 
may  use  the  expression)  wholly  flattened  av;ay.  by  at 
uarded  and  illiberal  familiarity. 


202      The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

1 3.  Nor  is  good  breeding  less  the  ornament  and  cement 
©f  common   social   life  :  it   connects,   it  endears,  and  at 
the  same  time  that  it  indulges  the  just  liberty,   restrains 
the  indecent    licentiousness  of  conversation,  which  alien- 
ates and  provokes.     Great  talents  make   a  man  famous, 
great  merit   m.ikes   him   respected,   and   great   lea  mine: 
makes  him  esteemed  ;  but  good  breeding  alone  can  make 
him  beloved. 

14.  I  recommend  it   in  a  more  particular  manner  to 
my  countrywomen,  as  the   greatest  ornament  to   such  of 
them  as  have  beauty,  and  the  safest  refuge  for  those  who 
have  not.     It  facilitates  the  victories,   decorates  the  tri- 
umphs, and  secures  the  conquests  of  beauty  ;  or  in  some 
degree  atones  for  the  want  of  it.     It  almost  deifies  a  fine 
\voman,  and  procures  respect  at  least  to  those  who  have 
not  charms  enough   to  be   admired.     Upon  the   whole, 
though  good  breeding  cannot,   strictly  speaking,  be  called 
a  virtue,  yet  it  is  productive  of  so  many  good  effects,  that 
in  my  opinion  it  may  be  justly  reckoned  more  than  a  mere 
accomplishment. 

WORLD,  NO.   143. 


JFurther  Remarks  taken  from  Lr>rd  C/i?sferfiM'9s  Letters  to 

his  Sou. 


breeding  has  been  very  justly  defined  to  he 
"  the  result  of  much  good  sense,  some  good 
"  nature  and  a  little  self  denial  for  the  sake  of  others, 
"  and  with  a  view  to  obtain  the  same  indulgence  from 
"  them." 

Good  breeding  alone  c?:iv  prepossess  people  in  our  fa- 
Tor  at  first  sight  ;  more  time  being  necessary  to  discover 
greater  talents.  Good  breeding,  however,  does  not  con- 
sist in  low  bows*  and  formal  ceremony  ;  but  in  an  easy,- 
civil,  and  respectful  behavior. 

16.  Indeed,  good  sense,  in  many  cases,  must  determine 
good  breeding  ;  for  what  would  be  civil  at  one  time,  and 
to  one  person,  would  be  rude  at  another  time,  and  to 
another  person  :  there  are,  however,  some  general  rules 
ef  good  breeding.  As  for  example  ',  to  answer  only  yes,  oir 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT*  2Q3 

no,  to  any  person,  without  adding  sir,  my  lord,  or  madam, 
(as  it  may  happen)  is  always  extremely  rude  ;  and  it  is 
equally  so  not  to  give  proper  attention  and  a  civil  answer 
when  spoken  to  :  such  behavior  convinces  the  person 
who  is  speaking  to  us,  that  we  despise  him,  and  do  not 
think  him  worthy  of  our  attention,  or  answer. 

17.  A  well  bred  person   will  take  care  to  answer  with 
complaisance  when  he    k>  spoken  to  ;  will  place  himself 
at  the  lower  end  of  the  table,    unless  bid  to  go  higher  ; 
will  first  drink  to  the  lady  of  the  house,  and  then  to  the 
master  ;  he  will  not  eat  aukwardly  or  dirtily,  nor  sit  when 
others  stand  ;  and  he  will  do  all  this  with   an  air  of  com- 
plaisance, and  not  with  a  grave  ill  matured  look,  as  if  he 
did  it  unwillingly. 

18.  There    is   nothing  more    difficult  to  attain,   or  so 
necessary  to  possess,  as  perfect  good  breeding  ;  which  is 
equally  inconsistent  with  a  stiff  formality,   an  impertinent 
forwardness,   and  an  aukward  bash  fulness.     A  little  cere- 
mony is   sometimes  nectssury  ;   a  certain  clepree  of  firm- 
ness is  absolutely  so  ;  and  an  outward  modesty  is  extreme- 
ly becoming. 

19.  Virtue  and  learning,  like  gold,  have  their  intrinsic 
value  :   but,  if  they  *\re   not  polished,  they  certainly  lose 
a  great  deal  of  their  lustre  :   and  even  polished  brass  will 
},i/  s  upon  more  people  than   rough  gold.     What  a  num- 
ber of  sins  does  the  cheerful,  easy,  good  breeding  of  the 
French  frequently  cover  ! 

My  Lord  Bacon  says,  "  that  a  pleasing  figure  is  a 
"  perpetual  letter  of  recommendation."  It  is  certainly 
an  agrecuble  fore-runner  of  merit,  and  smooths  the  way 
for  it. 

20.  A  man    of  good  breeding   should    be    acquainted 
with  the   forms    and  particular   customs  of   courts.     At 
Vienna,    men    always    make   conrtsies,   instead  of  bows, 
to  the    Emperor  ;  in  France  nobody  bows    to  the  king, 
or  kisses  his  hand  ;  but  in  Spain  and  England,  bows  are 
made,  and  hands  are  kissed.     Thus  every  court  has  some 
peculiarity,  which  those  who  visit  them  ought  previously 
to  inform  themselves  of,   to  avoid  blunders  and  aukward- 

21.  Vety  few, -scarcely  any- ^t*e  want          i     ^respect 
•Vi'bich  they  should  show  to  those  whoa, 


20-i       The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

to  be  infinitely  their  superiors.  The  man  of  fashion,  arul 
of  the  world,  expresses  it  in  its  fullest  extent ;  but  natur- 
ally, easily,  and  without  concern  :  whereas  a  man,  who  is 
not  used  to  keep  good  company,  expresses  it  aukwardly  ; 
one  sees  that  he  is  not  used  to  it,  and  that  it  costs  him 
a  great  deal  :  but  I  never  saw  the  worst  bred  man  liv- 
ing, guilty  of  lolling,  whistling,  scratching  his  head,  and 
such  like  indecencies,  in  company  that  he  respecte^U 
In  such  companies,  therefore,  the  only  point  to  be  at- 
tended to  is,  to  show  that  respect,  which  every  body 
means  to  show,  in  an  easy,  unembarrassed,  and  graceful 
manner. 

22.  In  mixed  companies,  whoever  is  admitted  to  make 
part  with  them,    is,  for  the   time  at  least,  supposed  to  be 
upon  a  footing  of  equality  with  the  rest  ;  and  consequent- 
ly, every  one  claims,  and  very  justly,  every  mark  of  civility 
and  good  breeding.     Ease  is  allowed,  but  carelessness  and 
negligence  are  strictly  forbidden.     Ifa  mun  accost 

and  tuiks  to  you  ever  so  dully  or  frivolously  ;  it  is  worse 
rudeness,   it  is   brutality,  to  show  him  by  a  manifest 
inattention  to  what  he  says,  that  yen  think  Lira  a  fool  or  a 
blockhead,  and  rot  worth  hearing. 

23.  It  is  mueh  more  so  with  regard  to  v  who, 
or  whatever  rank  they  are,  are  entitled,  in  cc              ..ion  of 
their  sex,  not  only  to   an  attentive,   l^t  ^  officious  good- 
breeding  from  men.     Their  little  wants,  likings,  dislikes, 
preferences,  antipathies,  fancies,  whims,  and   even  imper- 

:es,  must  be  officiously  attended  to,  {latleix-fl,  and,  if 
possible,  guessed  at  and  anticipated,  1;  bred  m:-in. 

You  must  never  usurp  to  yourself  those  conveniences 
and  agrcmen*  which  are  of  common  right  such  as  the 
places,  the  best  dishes,  Sec.  hut  on  the  contrary,  always 
decline  them  yourself,  and  offer  them  to  others;  who, 
in  their  turns,  will  offer  them  to  you  :  so  that,  upon  the 
whole,  you  will,  in  your  turn,  enjoy  your  share  ci  com- 
mon right. 

24.  The   third  sort  of  good    breeding   is  local,  and   is 
variously    modified,   in   not  only  aiffl-rent   countries,  but 
in  different  to'.vns  of  the  same  country.     But 

iounded  upon  the  two  former  sorts  ;   they  ure  the  r 
to  which,  in  this  case,  iV  hion  and  custom  on> 
ditfcrent  shapes  and  irrn 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  205 

First  sorts,  will  easily  acquire  this  third  sort  of  good  breed- 
ing, vhich  depends  singly  upon  attention  and  observation. 
It  is  properly  the  polish,  the  lustre,  the  last  finishing 
strokes  of  good  breeding.  A  man  of  sense,  therefore, 
carefully  attends  to  the  local  manners  of  the  respective 
places  where  he  is,  and  takes  for  his  models  those  persons 
whom  he  observes  to  be  at  the  head  of  the  fashion  and 
good  breeding. 

25.  He  watches  how  they  address  themselves  to  their 
superiors,  how  they  accost  their  equals,    and  how  they 
treat  their  inferiors  ;  and  lets  none  of  those  little  niceties 
escape  him  ;  which  are  to  good  breeding,  what   the  last 
delicate  and  masterly  touches  are  to  a  good  picture,  and 
which  the  vulgar  have  no  notion  of,  but  by  which   good 
judges  distinguish  the  master.     He  attends  even  to  their 
airs,  dress,  and  motions,  and  imitates  them  liberally,  and 
not  servilely  ;   he    copies,  but  does   not    mimic*     These 
personal  graces  are  of  very  great  consequence-.     They  an- 
ticipate the  sentiments,  before   merit  can  engage  the  un- 
derstanding ;  they  captivate  the  heart,  and  give  rise,  I  be- 
lieve, to  the  extravagant  notions  of  charms  and  philtres. 
Their  effects  were  so  surprising,  that  they  were  reckoned 
supernatural. 

26.  In  short,  as  it  is  necessary  to  possess  learning-,  hon- 
or,   and  virtue,  to  gain   the  esteem    and  admiration  of 
mankind,  so  politeness  and  good  breeding  are  equally  ne- 
cessary to  render  us  agreeable  in  conversation  and  com- 
mon life.     Great  talents   are  above   the  generality  of  the 
world  ;  who   neither  possess  them   themselves,   nor  are 
competent  judges  of  them  in  others  :  but  all  are  judges 
of  the  lesser  talents,  such  as  civility,   affability,   and  an 
agreeable  address  and  manner  ;  because  they  feel  the  good 
•effects  of  them,  as  making  society  easy  and  agreeable. 

To  conclude  :  be  assured  that  the  profoundest  learning, 
without  good  breeding,  is  unwelcome  and  tiresome  pe- 
dantry ;  that  a  man  who  is  not  perfectly  well  bred,  is  un- 
fit for  company,  and  unwelcome  in  it ;  and  that  a,  man, 
who  is  not  well  bred,  is  full  as  unfit  for  business  as  for 
company. 

Make,  then,  good  breeding  the  great  object  of  your 
thoughts  and  actions.  Observe  carefully  the  behavior 
and  manners  of  those  who  are  distinguished  by  their  good 


206     The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

breeding  ;  imitate,  nay,  endeavor  to  excel,  that  you 
may  at  least  reach  them  ;  and  be  convinced  that,  good 
breeding  is  to  all  worldly  qualifications,  what  charity  is 
to  all  Christian  virtues.  Observe  how  it  adorns  merit, 
and  how  often  it  covers  the  want  of  it. 


Genteel  Carriage* 

1.  l^TEXT  to  good  breeding  is  a  genteel  manner  and 
JL.^1    carriage,   wholly    free  from  those  ill  habits  and 
auk  ward  actions,  which  many  very  worthy  persons  are 
addicted  to. 

2.  A  genteel  manner  of  behavior,    how  trifling  soever 
k  may  seem,  is  of  the  utmost  consequence  in  private  life. 
Men  of  very  inferior  parts  have  been  esteemed,  merely 
for  their  genteel  carnage  and  good  breeding,  while  sen- 
sible men   have  given   disgust  for  want  of  it.     There    is 
something  or  other  that  prepossesses  us  at  first  sight  in  fa- 
vor of  a  well  bred  man,  and  makes  us  wish  to  like  him. 

3.  When  an  aukward  fellow  first  conies  into  a  room, 
he  attempts  to  bow,  and  his  sword,  if  he  wears  one,  gets 
between  his  leg*,  and  nearly  throws  him  down.     Confus- 
ed and  ashamed,   he  stumbles  to   the  upper  end  of  the 
room,  and  seats  himself  in  the  very  chair  he  should  not. 
He  there  begins  playing  with  his  hctt,  which  he  presently 
drops  ;  and  recovering  his  hat,  he  lets  fall  his  cane  ;  and 
in  picking  up  his  cane,  down  goes  his  hat  again  :   thus 
ytis  a  considerable  time  before  he  ir>  adjusted. 

4.  When  his  tea  or  coffee  is  handed  to  him,  he  spreads 
his  handkerchief  upon  his  knee,  scalds  his  mouth,  drops 
either  the  cup  or  the  saucer,  and  spills  the  tea  or  coffee 
in  his  lap.     At  dinner  he  is  more  uncommonly  aukward, 
there  he  tucks  his   napkin  through  a  button  hole,  which 
tickles  his  chin,  and  occasions  him  to  make  a  variety  of 
wry  faces  ;  he  seats  himself  upon  the  edge  of  the  chair, 
at  so  great  a  distance  from  the  table,  that  he  frequently 
drops  his  meut  between  his  plate  and  his  mouth  ;  he  holds 
his  knife,  fork  and  spoon  different  from  other  people  ; 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  207 

eats  with  his  knife,  to  the  manifest  clanger  of  his  mouth  > 
picks  his  teeth  with  his  fork,  rakes  his  mouth  with  his 
finger,  and  puts  his  spoon  which  has  been  in  his  throat 
a  dozen  times  into  the  dish  again. 

5.  If  he  is  to  carve   he  cannot  hit  the  joint,  hut  in  la- 
boring to  cut  through  the   bone,  splashes   the   sauce  over 
every    body's  clothes.     He  generally   daubs  him  self*  all 
over,  his  elbows  are  in  the  next  person's  plate,  and  he  is 
up  to  the  knuckles  in  soup  and  grease.     If  he  drinks,  it  is 
with  his  mouth  full,  interrupting  the  whole  company  with, 
<c  to  your  good  health,  Sir,"    and   "  my  service  to   you  ;" 
perhaps  coughs  in  his  glass,    and  besprinkles   the  whole 
table.     Further,  he  has  perhaps  a  number  of  disagreeable 
tricks  ;  he  snuffs   up  his  nose,   picks  it   with  his  fingers, 
blows  it,    and  looks  in  his  handkerchief,   crams  his  hands 
first  in  his  bosom,  and  next  in  his  breeches. 

6.  In  short,  he  neither  dresses  nor  acts  like  any  other 
person,  but  is  particularly  aukward  in  every  thing  he  does. 
All  this,  I  own,  has  nothing  in  it  criminal  ;  but  it  is  such 
an  offence  to  good  manners  and  good  breeding  that  it  is 
universally  despised  ;  it  makes  a  man  ridiculous  in  every 
company,  and,  of  course,  ought  carefully  to  be  avoided  by 
every  one  who  would  wish  to  please. 

7.  From  this  picture  of  the  ill  bred  man,  you  will  easily 
discover  that  of  the  well  bred  ;  for  you  may  readily  judge 
what  you  ought  to  do,  when  you  are  told  what  you  ought 
not  to  do  ;   a  little  attention  to  the  manners  of  those  who 
have  seen  the  world,  will  make  a  proper  behavior  habitual 
and  familiar  to  you. 

8.  Actions,  that  \vould  otherwise  be  pleasing-,  frequently 
become  ridiculous  by  your  manner  of  doing  them.     If  a 
lady  drops  her  fan  in  company,  the  worst  bred  man  would 
immediately  pick  it  up,  and  give  it  to  her  ;  the  best  bred 
man  can  do  no  more  :  but   then   he  does  it  in  a   graceful 
manner,  which  is  sure  to  please  :  whereas  the  other  would 
do  it  so  auk  ward  iy  as  to  be  laughed  at. 

9.  You  may  also  know  a  well  bred  person  by  his  man- 
ner of  sitting.     Ashamed  and  confused,  the  aukward  man 
sits  in  his  chair   stiff  and  b*lt  upright,  whereas  the  man 
of  fashion   is  easy   in  every  position  ;  instead  of  lolling  or 
lo:n  p'ing  us -he  sits,  he  jeans  with  elegance,  and  by  varying 
Lis  attitudes,  shows  that  he  has  been  used  to  ;rocci  com- 


208     The  Young  Gentleman  mid  Lady's  MONITOR, 

pany.  Let  it  be  one  part  of  your  study,  then  to  leans 
to  set  genteely  in  different  companies,  to  loll  gracefully, 
where  you  are  authorised  to  take  that  liberty,  and  to  sit 
up  respectfully,  where  that  freedom  is  not  allowable. 

10.  In  short,  you  cannot  conceive  how   advantageous 
a  graceful  carriage  and  a  pleasing  address   are,  upon  all 
occasions  ;  they    ensnare   the  affections,   steal  a  prepos- 
session in    our  favor,  and  play  about  the  heart  till  they 
engage  it. 

Now  to  acquire  a  graceful  air,  you  must  attend  to  your 
dancing  ;  no  one  can  either  sit,  stand,  or  walk  well  un- 
less he  dances  well.  And  in  learning  to  dance  be  partic- 
ularly attentive  to  the  motion  of  your  arms,  for  a  stiff- 
ness in  the  wrist  will  make  any  man  look  aukward.  If 
i\  man  \vaiks  well,  presents  himself  well  in  company,  wears 
his  hat  well,  moves  his  head  properly  and  his  arms  grace- 
fully, it  is  almost  all  that  is  necessary. 

1 1.  There  is  also  an  aukwardness  in  speech,  that  nat- 
urally falls  under  this  head,  and  ought  to,  and  may  be 
guarded  against  ;  such  as  forgetting  names  and  mistaking 
one  name  for  another  ;  to  speak  of  Mr.  What-d'ye-call 
him,   01%   You-know-who,    Mrs.   Thingum,  What's-her- 
Tiame,  cr,  How-d'ye-call  her,  is  exceedingly  aukward  and 

r.     'Tis  the   same   to   address  people  by  improper 
'"for  my  lord :  to  begin   a  story   without  being1 
!oh  it,   and  break  off  in  the  middle,  with    "  L 
have  forgot  the  rest." 

12.  Our   voice   and  manner  of  speaking,   too,  should; 
like \vise  be  attended  to.     Some   will  mumble  over  their 
words,  so  as  not  to  be  intelligible,  and  others  will  speak  so 
fast  as  rot  to  be  understood,  and  in  doing  this,  will  sputter 
:;TKi  spit  in  your  face  ;   some    will  bawl  as  if  they    were 

.••.ing  to  the  deaf:  others  will  speak  so  low  as  scarcely 
1  ;   and  many  will  put  their  faces  so  close  to 
"3  r.s  to  offend  you  with  their  breath. 
IS.  All  these;  habits  are  horrid  and  disgustful,  but  may 
easih  he  better  of  with  care.     They  ure  the  vul- 

gar chsjp.cU'i'istics  of  a  low  bred  man,  or  are  proofs  that 
very  little  pains  have  been  bestowed  in  his  education. 
In  short,  an  attention  to  these  little  matters  is  of  greater 
importance  than  you  are  aware  of;  many  a  sensible  man 
having  lost  ground  for  want  of  these  Uttle  gractv 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT. 

many  a  one,  possessed  of  these  perfections  alone,  having 
made  his  way  through  life,  that  otherwise  would  not 
have  been  noticed. 

Cleanliness  of  Person* 

14.  T)  UT,  as  no  one  can  please  in  company,  however 
Jj  graceful  his  air,  unless  he  be  clean  and  neat  in  his 
person,  this  qualification  comes  next  to  be  considered. 

15.  Negligence  of  one's  person  not  only  implies  an 
wnsufFerable  indolence,    but  an  indifference   whether  we 
please  or  not.     In  others,  it  betrays  an  insolence  and  af- 
fectation, arising  from  a  presumption  that'  they  are  sure 
of  pleasing,  without  having  recourse  to  these  means  which 
many  are  obliged  to  use. 

1 6.  He  who  is  not  thoroughly  clean  in  his  person,  will 
be  offensive  to  all  he  converses  with.     A  particular  re- 
gard to  the   cleanness  of  your  moutl^,   teeth,    hands  an4. 
nails,  is  but   common  decency.     A  foul  mouth  and  un- 
clean hands  are  certain  marks  of  vulgarity  ;  the  first  is 
the  cause  of  an  offensive  breath,  which  nobody  can  bear, 
and  the    last  is  declaratory  of  dirty  work  ;  one  may  al- 
ways  know  a  gentleman  by  the  state  of  his  hands  and 
nails.     The  flesh  at 'the  roots  should  be  kept  back,   so  as 
to  show  the  semicircle  at  tha  bottom  of  the    nails  ;  the 
edges  of  the  nails  should  never  be  cut  down  below  the 
ends  of  the  fingers  ;  nor  should  they  be  suffered  to  gro\r 
longer  than  the  fingers. 

17.  When  the  nails  ate  cut  clovrn  to  the  quick,  it  is  a 
shrewd  sign  that  the  man  is  a  mechanic,  to  whom  long 
nails  would  be  troublesome,  or  that  he  gets  his  bread  by* 
fiddling  ;  and  if  they  are   longer  than   his  fingers'  ends, 
and  encircled  with  a  black  rirn,  it  foretels  he  has  been 
laboriously   and   meanly  employed,    and  too   fatigued  to 
clean  himself:   a  good  apology  for  want  of  cleanliness  in 
a  mechanic,  but  the  greatest  disgrace   that  can  attend  a 
gentleman. 

18.  These  things  may  appear  too  insignificant  to  be 
Hiemioned  ;   but   wn^n   it    is    considered  that  a  thousand" 
little  nameless  things,  which   every  one  fe-f^s  but  no  one 
can   describe,  conspire  to  form   that   whole  of  pleasing,  I 
hope  you   will  not  call  them    trying,     resides  a   clean 


210     The    Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

shirt  and  a  clean  person  are  as  necessary  to  health,  as  not 
to  offend  other  people.  It  is  a  maxim  with  me,  which  I 
have  lived  to  see  verified,  that  he  who  is  negligent  at 
twenty  years  of  age,  will  be  a  sloven  at  forty,  and  intole- 
rable at  fifty. 

Dress. 

I9'  "^P^T^S^  of  person,  I  observed,  was  as  neces- 
-L»    sary  as  cleanliness  ;  of  course  some  attention 
must  be  paid  to  your  dress. 

Such  is  the  absurdity  of  the  times,  that  to  pass  well  with 
the  world,  we  must  adopt  some  of  its  customs,  be  they  ri- 
diculous or  not. 

20.  In  the  first  place,  to  neglect  one's  dress  is  to  affront 
all  the  female  part  of  our  acquaintance.     The  women  in 
particular  pay    an   attention   to  their   dress  ;  to  neglect 
therefore  your's  will  displease  them,  as  it  would  be  tacitly 
taxing  them  with  vanity,  and  declaring  that  you  thought 
them  not  worth  that  respect  which  every  body  else  does* 
And,  as  I  have  mentioned  before,  as  it  is  the  women  who 
stamp  a  young  man's  credit  in  the  fashionable  world,  if 
you  do  not  make  yourself  agreeable  to  the  women,  you 
will  assuredly  lose  ground  among  the  men* 

21.  Dress,  as  trifling  as  it  may  appear  to  a  man  of  un- 
derstanding, prepossesses  on  the  first  appearance,  which  is 
frequently  decisive  ;  and  indeed  we  may  form  some  opin- 
ion of  a  man's  sense  and  character  from  his  dress.     Any 
exceeding  of  the  fashion,  or  any  affectation  in  dress  what- 
ever, argues  a  weakness  of  understanding,  and  nine  times 
out  often  it  will  be  found  so. 

22.  There  are  few  young  fellows  but  what  display  some 
character  or  other  in  this  shape.     Some  would  be  thought 
fearless  and  brave  :  these  wear  a  black  cravat,  a  short  coat 
and  waistcoat,  an  uncommon  long  sword  hanging  to  their 
knees,  a  large  hat  fiercely  cocked,  and  are  fash  all  over. 
— —Others   affect  to  be  country  squires  :  these  will  go 
about  in  buck  skin  breeches,  brown  frocks,  and  great  oak- 
en cudgels  in  their  hands,    slouched  hats,  with  their  hair 
undressed  and  tucked  up   behind  them  to  an  enormous 
size,  and  imitate  gro»ms  and  country  boobies  so  well  ex- 
ternally, that  there  is  not  the  least  doubt  of  their  resem- 
bling them  as  well  internally. 


*n d  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  21.1 

23.  Others,  again,   paint  and  powder  themselves   so 
much,  and  dress  so  finicaliy,  as  leads  ns  to  suppose  they 
are  only  women  in  boys  clothes.  Now  a  sensible  man  care- 
fully avoids  all  this,  or  any  other  affectation.     He  dresses 
as  fashionable  and  well  as  persons  of  the  best  families  and 
best  sense  ;  if  he  exceeds  them  he  is  a  coxcomb  ;  if  he 
dresses  worse  he  is  unpardonable. 

24.  Dress   yourself   fine,  then,   if  possible,   or   plain.; 
agreeable  to  the  company  you  are  in  ;  that  is,  conform  to 
the  dress  of  others,  and  avoid  the  appearance  of  being 
tumbled.     Imitate  those  reasonable  people  of  your  own 
age,  whose  dress  is  neither  remarked  as  too  neglected  or 
too  much  studied.     Take  care  to"  have  your  clothes  well 
made,  in  the  fashion,  and  to  fit  you,  or  you  will  after  all, 
appear  aukward.     When  once  dressed,  think  no  more  of 
it ;  show  no  fear  of  discomposing  your  dress,  but  let  all 
your  motions  be  as  easy  and  unembarrassed,  as  if  you  was 
at  home  in  your  dishabille. 

Elegance  of  Expression. 

*5.  T  TAVING   mentioned  elegance  of  person,  I  will 

JL  _L  proceed  to  elegance  of  expression. 
It  is  not  one  or  two  qualifications  alone  that  will  com- 
plete the  gentleman  :  it  must  be  an  union  of  many  ;  and 
graceful  speaking  is  as  essential  as  gracefulness  of  person. 
Every  man  caniiot  be  an  harmonious  speaker  ;  a  rough- 
ness or  coarseness  of  voice  may  prevent  it ;  but  if  there 
are  no  natural  imperfections,  if  a  man  does  not  stammer 
or  lisp,  or  has  not  lost  his  teeth,  he  may  speak  gracefully  ; 
nor  will  all  these  defects,  if  he  has  a  mind  to  it,  prevent 
him  from  speaking  correctly. 

26.  Nobody  can  attend  with  pleasure  to  a  bad  speaker. 
One  who  tells  his  story  ill,  be  it  ever  so  important,  will 
tire  even  the  most  patient.     If  you  have  been  present  at 
the  performance  of  a  good  tragedy,  you  have  doubtless 
been  sensible  of  the  good  effects  of  a  speech  well  delivered ; 
how  much  it  has  interested  and  affected  you  ;  and  on  the 
contrary,  how  much  an  ill  spoken  one  has  disgusted  you. 

27.  'Tis  the  same  in  common  conversation  ;  he  who 
speaks  deliberately,  distinctly  and   correctly  ;    he   who 
makes  use  of  the  best  words  to  express  himself,  and  varies 


212      The  Young  Gentleman  and  Ladifs 

his  voice  according  to  the  nature  of  the  subject,  will  al- 
ways please,  \vhile  the  thick  or  hasty  speaker,  he  who 
mumbles  out  a  set  of  ill  chosen  words,  utters  them  un- 
grammatically, or  with  a  dull  monotony,  will  Lire  and  dis- 
gust. Be  assured  then,  the  air,  the  gesture,  the  looks  of 
a  speaker,  a  proper  accent,  a  just  emphasis,  and  tuneful 
cadence,  are  full  as  necessary  to  please  and  to  be  attended 
to,  as  the  subject  matter  itself. 

28.  People  may  talk  what  they  will  of  solid  reasoning* 
and  sound  sense  ;  without  the  graces  and  ornaments  of 
language,  they  will  neither  please  nor  persuade.     In  com- 
mon  discourse,  even  trifles  elegantly  expressed  will  be 
better  received  than  the  best  of  arguments,  home-spua 
and  unadorned. 

29.  A  good  way  to  acquire  a  graceful  utterance,  is  to 
read  aloud  to  some  friend  every  day,   and  beg  of  him  to 
set  you  right,  in  case  you  read  too  fast,  do  not  observe 
the  proper  stops,  lay  wrong  emphasis,  ©r  utter  your  words 
indistinctly.     You  may  even  read  aloud  to  yourself  where 
such  a  friend  is  not  at  hand,  and  you  will  find  your  owa 
ear  a  good  corrector.  Take  care  to  open  your  teeth  when 
you  read  or  speak,  and  articulate  every  word  distinctly  ; 
which  last  cannot  be  done  but  by  sounding  the  final  let- 
ter.    But  above  all  endeavor  to  vary  your  voice,   accord- 
ing to  the  matter,  and  avoid  a  monotony.     By  a  daily  at- 
tention to  this,  it  will  in  a  little  time    become  easy  and 
habitual  to  you. 

30.  Pay  an   attention  also  to  your  looks  and  your  ges- 
ture,   when  talking  even    on  the  most  trifling  subjects  ; 
things  appear   very  different  according  as  they  are  ex- 
pressed, looked  and  delivered. 

Now,  if  it  is  necessary  to  attend  so  particularly  to  our 
manner  of  speaking,  it  is  much  more  so  with  regard  to  the 
matter.  Fine  turns  of  expression,  a  genteel  and  correct 
style,  are  ornaments  as  requisite  to  common  sense,  as  po- 
lite behavior  and  an  elegant  address  are  to  common  good 
manners  :  they  are  great  assistants  in  the  point  of  pleas- 
ing. A  gentleman,  'tis  true,  may  be  known  in  the  mean- 
est garb,  but  it  admits  not  dfa  doubt,  that  he  would  be' 
better  received  into  good  company  genteely  and  fashiona- 
bly dressed,  than  was  he  to  appear  in  dirt  and  tatters. 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  213 

3 1 .  Be  careful  then  of  your  style  upon  all  occasions  5 
whether  you  write  or  speak,  study  for  the  best  words  and 
best  expressions,   even  in  common  conversation  and  the 
most  familiar  letters.     This  will    prevent  your  speaking 
in  a  hurry,   than  which  nothing  is  more  vulgar  ;  though 
you  may  be  a  little  embarrassed  at  first,  time  and  use  will 
render  it  easy.     It   is  no  such  difficult  thing  to  express 
ourselves  well  on  subjects  we   are  thoroughly  acquainted 
with,  if  we  think  before  we  speak ;  and  no  one  should 
presume  to  do  otherwise. 

32.  When  you  have  said  a  thing,  if  you  did  not  reflect 
before,  be  sure  to  do  it  afterwards  ;  consider  with  your- 
self whether  you  could  not  have  expressed  yourself  better  ; 
and  if  you  are  in   doubt  of  the  propriety  or  elegancy  of 
any  word,  search  for  it  in  some  dictionary,  or  some  good 
author,  while  you  remember  it ;  never  be  sparing  of  your 
trouble  while  you  wish  to  improve,  and  my  word  for  it, 
a  very  little  time  will  make  this  matter  habitual. 

23,  In  order  to  speak  grammatically,  and  to  express 
yourself  pleasingly,  I  would  recommend  it  to  you  to  trans- 
late often  any  language  you  are  acquainted  with  into 
English,  and  to  correct  such  translation  till  the  words, 
their  order  and  the  periods,  are  agreeable  to  your  own 
ear. 

Vulgarism  in  language  is  another  distiguishing  mark  of 
bad  company  and  education.  Expressions  may  be  correct 
in  themselves  and  yet  be  vulgar,  owing  to  their  not  being 
fashionable  ;  for  language  as  manners  are  both  established 
for  the  usage  of  people  of  fashion. 

34.  The  conversation  of  a  low   bred  man   is  filled  up 
with   proverbs  and  hackneyed  sayings,  instead  of  observ- 
ing that  tastes  are  different.,  and  that  most  men  have  one 
peculiar   to  themselves,  he  will  give  you,  "  What  is  one 
man's  meat   is  another  man's  poison  :"  or,  "  Every  one 
to  their  liking,   as  the  old  woman  said,   when  she  kissed 
her  cow."     lie   has  ever   some   favorite  word,  which  he 
lugs  in  upon  all  occasions,  ri^ht  or  wrong  ;  such  as  vastly 
angry,  -vastly  kind  ;  •devilish  ugly,  devili&li  handsome  ;  im- 
mensely great,  immensely  little. 

35.  Even    his  pronunciation   carries  the  mark  of  vul- 
garity along  with  it  ;   he  calls  the  earth  y earth  ;   finances 
fyi'arices  ;  he  goes  to  wards  and  not  towards  such  a  place* 


214      The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

He  affects  to  use  hard  words,  to  give  him  the  appearance  of 
a  man  of  learning,  but  frequently  mistakes  their  meaning, 
and  seldom,  if  ever  pronounces  them  properly. 

All  this  must  be  avoided,  if  you  would  not  be  supposed 
to  have  kept  company  with  footmen  and  house  maids. 
Never  have  recourse  to  proverbial  or  vulgar  sayings  ;  use 
neither  favorite  nor  hard  words,  but  seek  for  the  most 
elegant  ;  be  careful  in  the  management  of  them,  and 
depend  on  it  your  labor  will  not  be  lost  ;  for  nothing  is 
more  engaging  than  a  fashionable  and  polite  address. 

Small  Talk* 

36.TN  nil  good  company  we  meet  with  a  certain  man- 
JL  ner,  phraseology  and  general  conversation,  that 
distinguishes  the  man  of  fashion.  This  can  only  be  ac- 
quired by  frequenting  good  company,  and  being  particular- 
ly attentive  to  all  that  passes  there. 

37.  When  invited  to  dine  or  sup  at  the  house  of  any- 
well  bred  man  observe  how  he  does  the  honors  of  his  ta- 
ble, and  mark  his  manner  of  treating  his  company. 

Attend  to  the  compliments  of  congratulation  or  con- 
dolence that  he  pays  ;  and  take  notice  of  his  address  to 
his  superiors,  his  equals,  and  his  inferiors,  nay  his  very- 
looks  and  tone  of  voice  are  worth  your  attention,  for  we 
cannot  please  without  an  union  of  them  all* 

38.  There  is  a  certain  distinguishing  diction  that  marks 
the  man  of  fashion,    a  certain   language   of  conversation 
that  every  gentleman  should  be   master  of.     Saying  to  a 
man  just  married,  "  I  wish  you  joy,"  or  to  one  who  has 
lost  his  wife,  "  I  am  sorry  for  your  los&,"   and  both  per- 
haps with  an  unmeaning  countenance,   may  be  civil,  but 
it  is  nevertheless  vulgar.     A  man  of  fashion  will  express 
the  same  thing  more  elegantly,  and  with  a  look  of  sincer- 
ity, that  shall  attract  the  esteem  of  the  person   he   speaks 
to.     He  will  advance  to  the  one  with  warmth  and  cheer- 
fulntss,   and   perhaps    squeezing   him  by  the  hand,  will 
say,  "  Believe  me,  my  dear  sir",  I  have  scarce   words  to 
express  the  joy    I  feel,   upon   your  happy  alliance    with 

or  such   a  family,    Sec."     To  the  other  in  affliction 
;1  advance  slowly,,  and  with   a  peculiar  composure  of 
voice  and  countenance,  begin  his  compliments  of  c< 


ttnd  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  215 

lence  with,  "  I  hope,  sir,  you  will  clo  me  the  justice  to  be 
persuaded,  that  I  am  not  insensible  of  your  unhappiness, 
that  I  take  part  in  your  distress,  and  shall  ever  be  affected 
where  you  are  so." 

39,  Your  first  address  to,  and  indeed  all  your  conversa- 
tion with    your  superiors,  should  be  open,  cheerful,  and 
respectful  ;  with  your  equals,  warm  and  animated  ;  with 
your  inferiors,  hearty,  free,  and  unreserved. 

40.  There  is  a  fashionable  kind  of  small  talk,  which, 
however  trifling  it  may  be  thought,  has  its  use  in  mixed 
companies  ;  of  course  you  should  endeavor  to  acquire  it. 
By  small  talk,  I  mean  a  good  deal  to  say  on  unimportant 
matters  :  for  example,  foods,  the  flavor  and  growth  of 
wines,  and  the  chit-chat  of  the  day.     Such  conversation 
will  serve  to  keep  off  serious  subjects,   that  might  some 
time  create   disputes.     This    chit-chat  is  chiefly  to  be 
learned  by  frequenting  the  company  of  the  ladies. 


Observation. 

1.  /\  S  the  art  of  pleasing  is  to  be  learnt  only  by  fre- 
-ZTjL  quenting  the  best  companies,  we  must  endeavor 
to  pick  it  up  in  such  companies,  by  observation  ;  for,  it  is 
not  sense  and  knowledge  alone  that  will  acquire  esteem  ; 
these  certainly  are  the  first  and  necessary  foundations  for 
pleasing,  but  they  will  by  no  means  do,  unless  attended 
with  manners  and  attention. 

There  have  been  people  who  have  frequented  the  first 
companies  all  their  life  time  and  yet  have  never  got  rid  of 
their  natural  stiffness  and  aukwardness  ;  but  have  con- 
tinued as  vulgar  as  if  they  were  never  out  of  a  servant's 
hall  :  this  has  been  owing  to  carelessness,  and  a  want  of 
attention  to  the  manners  and  behavior  of  others. 

2.  There  are  a  great  many  people  likewise  who  busy 
themselves  the  whole  day,  and  who  in  fact  do  nothing. 
They  have  possibly  taken  up  a  book  for  two  or  three 
hours,  but  from  a  certain  inattention  that  grows  upon 
them  the  more  it  is  indulged,  know  no  more  of  the  con- 
tents than  if  they  had  not  looked  into  it  ;  nay,  it  is  im- 
possible for  any  one  to  retain  what  he  reacs,  unless  he 


216      The  Young1  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

reflects  and  reasons  upon  it  as  he  goes  on.  When  they 
have  thus  lounged  away  an  hour  or  two,  they  will  saunter 
into  company,  without  attending  to  any  thing  that  passes 
there  ;  but  if  they  think  at  all,  are  thinking  of  some  tril- 
ling matter  that  ought  not  to  occupy  their  attention; 
thence  perhaps  they  go  to  the  play,  where  they  stare  at 
the  company  and  the  lights,  without  attending  to  the 
piece,  the  very  thing  they  went  to  see. 

3.  In  this  manner  they  wear   away  their  hours,  that 
might  othewise  be  employed  to  their  improvement  and 
advantage.     This  silly  suspension  of  thought  they  would 
have    pass  for  absence  of  mind — Ridiculous  ! — Wherever 
you  are,  let  me  recommend  it  to  you  to  pay  an  attention 
to  all  that  passes  ;  observe  the  characters  of  the  persons 
you  are  with,  and  the  subjects  of  their  conversation  ;  listen 
to  every  thing  that  is  said,  see  every  thing  that  is  done, 
and  (according  to  the  vulgar  saying)  have  your  eyes  and 
your  ears  about  you. 

4.  A  continual  inattention  to  matters  that  occur  is  thfc 
characteristic  of  a  weak  mind  ;  the  man  who  gives  way 
to  it  is  little  else  than  a  trifler,   a  blank  in  society,  which 
every  sensible  person  overlooks  ;  surely  what  is  worth 
doing  is  worth  doing  well,  and  nothing  can  be  well  done 
if  not  properly  attended  to.     When  I  hear  a  man  say,  on 
being  asked  about  any  thing  that  was  said  or  done  in  his 
presence,  "  that  truly  he  did  not  mind  it,"  I  am  ready  to 
knock  the  fool  down.    Why  did  he  not  mind  it  ? — What 
had  he  else  to  do  ? — A  man  of  sense  and  fashion  never 
makes  use  of  this  paltry  plea  :  he  never  complains  of  a 
treacherous  memory,  but  attends  to  and  remembers  every 
thing  that  is  said  or  done. 

5.  Whenever,  then,  you  go  into  good  company,  that  is, 
the  company  of  people  of  fashion,  observe  carefully  their 
behavior,  their  address,    and  their   manner  ;  imitate  it 
as  far  as  in   your  power.     Your  attention,    if  possible, 
should  be  so  ready  as  to  observe  every  person  in  the  room 
at  once,  their  motions,  their  looks,  and  their  turns  of  ex- 
pression, and  that  without    staring  or  seeming  to  be  an 
observer.     This  kind  of  observation  may  be  acquired  by 
care*ind  practice,  and  will  be  found  of  the  utmost  advan- 
tage to  jouj  in  the  course  of  life. 


tnd  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  217 

Absence  of  Mind. 

AVING   mentioned  absence  of  mind,  let  me  be 

more  particular  concerning  it. 
What  the  world  calls  an  absent  man  is  generally  either 
a  very  affected  one  or  a  very  weak  one  ;  but  whether 
weak  or  affected,  he  is,  in  company,  a  very  disagreeable 
man.  Lost  in  thought,  or  possibly  in  no  thought  at  all, 
he  is  a  stranger  to  every  one  present,  and  to  every  thim; 
that  passes  ;  he  knows  not  his  best  friends,  is  deficient  in 
every  act  of  good  manners,  unobservant  of  the  actions  of 
the  company,  and  insensible  to  his  own. 

2.  His  answers  are  quite  the  reverse  of  what  they  ought 
to  be  ;  talk  to  him  of  one  thing,  he  replies  as  of  another. 
He  forgets  what  he  said  last,  leaves  his  hat  in  one  room, 
his  cane  in  another,   and   his  sword  in  a  third  ;  nay  if  it 
was  not  for  his  buckles,  he  would  even  leave   his   shoes 
behind  him.     Neither  his  arms  nor  his  legs  seem  to  be  a 
part  of  his  body,  and  his  head  is  never  in  a  right  position. 
He  joins  not  in  the  general  conversation,  except  it  be  by 
fits  and  starts,  as  if  awaking  from  a  dream  ;  I  attribute  this 
either  to  weakness  or  affectation. 

3.  His  shallow  mind  is  possibly  not  able  to  attend  to 
more  than  one  thing  at  a  time,  or  he  would  be  supposed 
wrapt  up  in  the  investigation  of  some  very  important  mat- 
ter.    Such  men    as    Sir  Isaac  Newton    or  Mr.    Locke, 
might  occasionally  have  some  excuse  for  absence  of  mind  ; 
it  might  proceed  from  that  in  tense  ness  of  thought  that 
was  necessary  at  all  times  for  the  scientific  subjects  they 
were  studying  ;  but,  for  a  young  man,   and  a  man  of  the 
world,  who  has  no  such  plea  to  make,  absence  of  mind  is 
a  rudeness  to  the  company,  and  deserves  the   severest 
censure. 

4.  However  insignificant  a  company  may  be  ;  however 
trifling  their  conversation  ;  while  you  are  with  them,  do 
not  show    them  by  any    inattention  that  you  think  them 
trifling  :  that  can  never  be  the  way  to  please  ;  but  rather 
fall  in  with  their  weakness  than  otherwise,  for  to  mortify, 
or  show  the  least  contempt  to   those   we   are  in  company 
with,  is  the  greatest  rudeness  we  can  be  guilty  of,  and 
what  few  can  forgive. 

T 


31$      The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady1  &  MONITOR, 

5.  I  never  yet  found  a  man  inattentive  to  the  person 
*ie  feared,  or  the  woman  he  loved  ;  which  convinces  me 
that  absence  of  mind  is  to  be  got  the  better  of,  if  we  think 
proper  to  make  the  trial  ;  and  believe  me,  it  is  always 
v/orth  the  attempt. 

Absence  of  mind  is  a  tacit  declaration,  that  those  we 
are  in  company  with  are  not  worth  attending  to  ;  and 
what  can  be  a  greater  affront  ?-^Besides,  can  an  absent 
man  improve  by  what  is  said  or  done  in  his  presence  ? — 
No  ;  he  may  frequent  the  best  companies  for  years  to- 
gether, and  all  to  no  purpose.  In  short,  a  man  is  neither 
fit  for  business  nor  conversation,  unless  he  can  attend  to 
the  object  before  him,  be  that  object  what  it  will. 


Knowledge  of  the  World. 

1 .  /\  KNOWLEDGE  of  the  world  by  our  own  experi- 
.jLjL  ence  and  observation,  is  so  necessary,  that  without 
it  we  shall  act  very  absurdly,  and,  frequently  give  offence 
when  we  do  not  mean  it.  All  the  learning  and  parts 
in  the  world  will  not  secure  us  from  it.  Without  an  ac- 
quaintance with  life,  a  man  may  say  very  good  things, 
but  time  them  so  ill,  and  address  them  so  improperly,  that 
he  had  much  better, be  silent.  Full  of  himself  and  his 
own  business,  and  inattentive  to  the  circumstances  and 
situations  of  those  he  converses  .with,  he  vents  it  without 
the  least  discretion,  says  things  that  .he  ought  not  to  say, 
confuses  some,  shocks  others,  and  puts  the  whole  compa- 
ny in  pain,  lest  what  he  utters  next  should  prove  worse 
than  the  last.  The  best  direction  I  can  give  you  in  this 
matter,  is  rather  to  fall  in  with  the  conversation  of 
others,  than  start  a  subject  of  your  own  :  rather  strive  to 
put  them  more  in  conceit  with  themselves,  than  to  draw 
their  attention  to  you. 

2.  A  novice  in  life,  he  who  knows  little  of  mankind, 
but  what  he  collects  from  books,  lays  it  down  as  a  maxim, 
that  most  men  love  flattery  ;  in  order  therefore  to 
please,  he  will  flatter  :  but  how  ?  Without  regard  either 
to  circumstances  or  occasion.  Instead  of  those  delicate 
.touches,  those  soft  tints.,  that  serve  to  heighten  the  piece. 


and  English  Teacher's  As  s  i  s  T  A L\  r «  219 

he  lays  on  his  colors  with  a  heavy  hand,  and  daubs 
where  he  means  to  adorn  :  in  other  words,  he  will  flatter 
so  unseasonably,  and  at  the  same  time  so  grossly,  that 
while  he  wishes  to  please  he  puts  out  of  countenance  and 
is  sure  to  offend.  On  the  contrary,  a  man  of  the  world, 
one  who  has  made  life  his  study,  knows  the  power  of 
flattery  as  well  as  he  ;  but  then  he  knows  how  to  apply  it ; 
he  watches  the  opportunity,  and  does  in  indirectly,  by  in- 
ference, comparison  and  hint. 

3.  Man  is  made  up  of  such  a  variety  of  matter,  that,  to 
search  him  thoroughly,  requires  time  and  attention  ;  for 
though  we  are  all  made  of  the  same  materials,  and  have 
all  the  same  passions,  yet,  from  a  difference  in  their  pro- 
portion and   combination,    we  vary  in   our  dispositions  ; 
what  is  agreeable  to  one  is  disagreeable  to  another,  and 
what  one  shall  approve,  another  shall  condemn-     Reason 
is  given  us  to  control  these  passions,  but  seldom  does  it. 
Application  therefore  to  the  reason  of  any  man  will   fre- 
quently prove  ineffectual,  unless  we  endeavor  at  the  same 
time  to  gain  his  heart. 

4.  Wherever  then  you  are,  search  into  the  characters 
of  men  ;  find  out  if  possible,  their  foible,  their  governing 
passion,  or  their  particular  merit ;  take  them  on  their  weak 
side,  and  you  will    generally   succeed  ;  their  prevailing 
vanity  you  may  readily  discover,   by  observing   their  fa- 
vorite topic  of  conversation,  for  every  one  talks  most  of 
what  he  would  be  thought  most  to  excel  in. 

5.  The  time  should  also  be  judiciously  made  choice  of. 
Every  man  has  his  particular  times  when  he  may  be  ap- 
plied to  with  success,  the  mollia  tcm/wra  fandi  ;  but  these 
times  are  not  all  the  day  long  ;  they  must  be  found  out, 
watched,  and  taken  advantage  of.     You  could  not  hope 
for  success  in  applying  to  a  man  about  one  business,  when 
he  was  taken  up  with  another,  or  when  his  mind  was  af- 
fected with  excess  of  grief,  anger,  or  the  like. 

6.  You  cannot  judge  of  other  men's  minds  better  than 
by  studying  your  own  ;  for,  though  some  men  have  one 
foible,  and  another  has  another,  yet  men,  in  general,  are 
very  much  alike.     Whatever  pleases  or  offends  you,  will 
in   similar  circumstances,  please  or  offend  others  ;  if  you 
•find  yourself  hurt  when  another  makes  you  feel  his  supe- 
riority, you  will  certainly,  upon  the  common  rule  of  right, 


:  OR, 

•ould  be  done  by,  take  care  not  to  let  another  feel 
your  superiority,  if  you  have  it,  especially  if  you  wish  to 
gain  his  interest  or  esteem. 

7.  If  disagreeable  insinuations,  open  contradictions,  or 
oblique   sneers  vex  and  anger   you,  would  you  use  them 

e  you  wish  to  pl^se  :  certainly  net.  Obsene  then 
v,  ith  care  the  operations  of  your  own  mind,  and  you  may, 
in  a  great  measure,  read  all  mankind. 

ill  allow  that  one  bred  up  in  a  cloister  or  collegs 
may  reason  well  on  the  structure  of  the  human  mind  ;  he 
iTiay  investigate  the  nature  of  man,  and  give  a  tolerable 
account  of  his  head,  his  heart,  his  passions,  and  his  senti- 
ments :  but  at  the  same  time  he  may  know  nothing  of 
t  lived  with  him,  and  of  course  can  know. 

•l.ie  how  those  sentiments  or  those  passions  will  work  ; 

,st  bii  ignorant  of  the  various  prejudices,  propensities 
;'.:».'J  antipathies,    that  always  bias  him    and  frequently  de- 

8.  His  knowledge  is  acquired  only  from  theory,  which 
-  widely  from  .practice  ;   and  if  he  forms   his  judg- 
frcm  that  alone,  he  must  be  often  deceived  ;  whereas 

.a  man  of  the  world,  cne  who  collects  his  knowledge  from 
Vis  own  experience  and  observation,  is  seldom  wrong  ; 
he  is  well  acquainted  with  tine  operations  of  the  human 
mind.  F  man,  reads  his  words  before 

e  they  are  perform- 

«:uknov;-  1   please,  and  what  will  displease,  and 

foresees  the  tvtr.l  of  rncst  ti/nigs. 

9.  Labor  then  to   acquire    this   intuitive    knowledge  ; 
attend  carefully  to  the   address,   the  arts  and  manners  of 

ccl  with  life,  and  endeavor  to  imitate  them. 
Observe  'the  means  they  take  to  gain  the  favor  and  con- 
ciliate the  affections  of  those  they  associate  with  ;  pursue 

means  ;  and  boon  gain  the  esteem    < 

that  know  you. 

How  often  have  we  seen  men  governed  by  persons  very 

i  their  inferiors  in  ;;o:r.t  of  understanding,  arc 
vithout   their  know- ing  it?  A  proof  that  some  men  have 
more  worldly  dexterity  than   ethers  :  they   find   out  the 
^veak  and   unguarded  part,   make  their  attack  there,  and 
the  man  surrenders* 

10.  Now  from  a  knowledge  of  mankind  we  shall  lears 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  2  £  i 

the  advantage  of  two  things,  the  command  of  our  temper 
and  our  countenance  :  a  trifling,  disagreeable  incident 
shall  perhaps  anger  one  unacquainted  with  life,  or  con- 
found him  with  shame  ;  shall  make  him  rave  like  a  mad- 
man,  or  look  like  a  fool :  but  a  man  of  the  world  will  nev- 
er understand  what  he  cannot  or  ought  not  to  resent.  If 
he  should  chance  to  make  a  slip  himself,  he  will  stifle  hi* 
confusion,  and  turn  it  off  with  a  jest  ;  recovering  it  with 
coolness. 

\  1.  Many  people  have  sense  enough  to  keep  their  own 
secrets  ;  but  from  being  unused  to  a  variety  of  company* 
have  unfortunately  such  a  tell-tale  countenance,  as  invol- 
untarily declares  what  they  would  wish  to  conceal.  This 
is  a  great  unhappiness,  and  should  as  soon  as  possible,  be 
got  the  better  of. 

That  coolness  of  mind  and  evenness  of  countenance, 
which  prevents  a  discovery  of  our  sentiments,  by  our 
words,  our  actions,  or  our  locks,  is  too  necessary  to  pass 
unnoticed. 

12.  A  man  who  cannot  hear  displeasing  things,  with- 
out visible  marks  of  anger  or  uneasiness  ;  or  pleasing 
ones,  without  a  sudden  burst  of  joy,  a  cheerful  eye,  or  an 
expanded  face,    is  at  the   mercy  of  every    knave  ;  for 
either  they  will  designedly  please  or  provoke  you  them- 
selves,   to  catch    your  unguarded    locks  ;    or   they  wifll 
seize  the  opportunity  thus  to  read  your  very  heart,  when 
any  other  shall   do  it.     You   may  possibly  tell  me,    that 
this  coolness  must  be  natural,  for  if  not,  you  can  never 
acquire  it. 

13.  I  will  admit  the  force   of  constitution,  but  people 
arc  very  apt  to  blame  that  for  many  things   they  might 
readily  avoid.     Care,  with  a  little  reflection,  will  soon  give 
you    this  mastery  of  your  temper  and  your  countenance. 
If  you  find  yourself  subject  to  sudden  starts  of  passion  de- 
termine with  yourself  not  to  utter  a  single  word  till  your 
reason  has   recovered  itself :  and  resolve  to  keep  your 
countenance  as  unmoved  as  possible. 

14.  As   a  man  who  at  a  card  table  can  preserve    a  se- 
renity in  his  looks,  under  good  or  bad  luck,  has  consider- 
ably the  advantage  of  one  who  appears  elated  with  success, 
or  cast  down  with  ill   fortune,  from  our  being  able  to  read 
his  cards  in  his  face  ;  so  the  man  of  the  world,  having  to 


222       The  Ywng  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR  , 

deal  with  one  of  these  babbling  countenances,  will  take 
care  to  profit  by  the  circumstance,  let  the  consequence,  to 
him  with  whom  he  deals,  be  as  injurious,  as  it  may. 

15.  In  the  course  of  life,  we  shall  find  it  necessarr 
very  often  to  put  on  a  pleasing  countenance  when  we  arc 
exceedingly  displeased  ;  we  must  frequently  seem  friend- 
ly when  we  are  quite  otherwise.  I  am  sensible  it  is  d'-tT^ 
cult  to  accost  a  man  with  smiles  whom  we  know  to  be 
our  enemy  ;  but  what  is  to  be  done  ?  On  receiving  an 
;  -front  if  you  cannot  be  justified  in  knocking  the  offender 
down,  you  must  not  notice  the  offence  ;  for,  in  the  eve 
of  the  world,  taking  an  affront  calmly  is  considered  as 
cowardice. 

]  6.  If  fools  should  at  any  Ume  attempt  to  be  witty  up* 
on  you,  the  best  way  is  net  to  know  their  witticisms  are 
levelled  at  you,  but  to  conceal  any  uneasiness  it  may  give 
you  :  but,  should  they  be  so  plain  that  you  cannot  b .3 
thought  ignorant  of  their  meaning,  I  would  recommend* 
rather  than  quarrel  with  the  company,  joining  even  in  tlv^ 
laugh  against  yourself  :  allow  the  jest  to  be  a  good  one, 
and  take  it  in  seeming  good  humor.  Never  attempt  ta 
retaliate  the  same  way,  as  that  would  imply  you  wers 
hurt.  Should  what  is. said  wound  your  honor  or  your  mor- 
al character,  there  is  but  one  proper  reply,  which  I.  hope 
you  will  never  be  obliged  to  have  recourse  to. 

17.  Remember  there    are  but  two    alternatives  for  a 
gentleman  ;  extreme  politeness  or  the  sword.     If  a  mat) 
openly  and  designedly  affronts  yon,  call  him  out :   but  if 
it  does  not  amount  to  an  open  insult,  be  outwardly  civil  ;„ 
if  this  does  not  make  him  ashamed  of  his  behavior,   it 
will  prejudice  every  by-stander  in  your  favor,  and  insteatl 
of  being  disgraced,  you  will  come  off  with  honor.     Po- 
liteness to  those  we  do  not  respect,  is  no  more  a  breach 
of  faith  than  your  humble  servant  at  the  bottom  of  a  chal- 
lenge ;  they  are  universally  understood  to  be  things  of 
course. 

18.  Wrangling  and  quarrelling  are  characteristic  of  a. 
weak   mind  :  leave   that  to  the   women,   be    you  always 
above  it.     Enter  into  no  sharp  contest,  and  pride  yourself 
in  showing,  if  possible,   more  civility  to  your  antagonist 
than  to  any  other  in  the  company  ;  this  will  infallibly  bring 
ov~r  all  the  laughter  to  your  side,  and  the  person  you. 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  223 

are  contending  with  will  be  very  likely  to  confess  you 
have  behaved  very  handsomely  throughout  the  whole 
affair. 

19.  Experience  will  teach  us  that  though  all  men  con- 
sist principally  of  the  same  materials,  as  I  before  took  no- 
tice, yet  from  a  difference;  in  their  proportion,  no  two  men 
are  uniformly  the  same :  we  differ  from  pne  another,  and 
we  often  differ  from  ourselves,  that  is.,  we   sometimes  do 
things  utterly  inconsistent  with  the  general  tenor  of  our 
characters.     The  wisest  man  will  occasionally  do  a  weak 
thing  ;  the  most  honest  man  a  wrong  thing;  the  proudest 
man,  a  mean  thing  ;  and  the  worst  of  men  will  sometimes 
do  a  good  thing., 

20.  On  this  account,  our  study  of  mankind  should  not 
be  general  ;  \ve  should  take  a  frequent  vrew  of  individuals, 
and  though  we  may  upon  the  whole  form  a  judgment  of 
the  man  from  his  prevailing  passions  or  his  general  chai% 
acter,  yet  it  will  be  prudent  not  to  determine,  till  we  have 
waited  to  see  the  operations  of  his  subordinate  appetites, 
and  humors* 

21.  For  example  ;  a  man's  general  character  may  be 
that  of  strictly  honest  ;   I  would  not  dispute  it,  because  I 
would  not  be  thought  envious  or  malevolent ;  but  I  would 
not  rely  upon,  this  general  character,  so  as  to. entrust  him. 
with  my  fortune  or  my  life-..   Should  this  honest  man,  as, 
is  not  common,  be  my  rival  in  power,  interest  or  love,  he 
may  possibly  do  things  that  in  othtr  circumstances  he, 
would  abhor ;  and  power,  interest^  aad  love,  let  me  tell 
you,  wijl  often  put  honesty  to  the  severest  trial,  and  fre- 
quently overpower  it.     I  would  then  ransack  this  honest 
man  to  the  bottom,  if  I  wished  to  trust  him,    and  as  I 
found  him,  •would  place  my  confidence  accordingly,. 

22.  One  of  the  great  compositions   in  our  nature  is. 
vanity,  to  which,  all  men,  more  or  less  give  way,     Wo- 
men, have  an  intolerable  share  of  it,     No-  flattery,  no  adu- 
lation is  too  gross  for  them  ;  those  who  Batter  them  most; 
please  them  best,  and  they  are  most  in  love  with  him  who. 
pretends  to  be  most  in  love  with  them  ;  and  the  least  slight 
or  contempt  of  them  is  never  forgotten.     It  is  in  some 
measure  the  same  with  men  ;  they  will  sooner  pardon  an, 
injury  than  an  insult,  and  are  more  hurt  by  contempt  than 
*>y  ill  usage.     Though  all  men  do  not  boast  of  superior; 


224      The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

talents,  though  they  pretend  not  to  the  abilities  of  a  Pope, 
a  Newton,  or  a  Bolingbroke,  every  one  pretends  to  have 
common  sense,  and  to  discharge  his  office  in  life  with 
common  decency;  to  arraign  therefore,  %  in  any  shape, 
his  abilities  or  integrity  in  the  department  he  holds,  is  an 
insult  he  will  not  readily  forgive. 

23.  As  I  would  not  have  you  trust  too  implicitly  to  a 
man,  because  the  world  gives  him  a  good  character  ;  so 
I  must  particularly  caution  you   against  those  who  speak 
well  of  themselves.     In  general,  suspect  those  who  boast 
of  or  affect   to  have  any  one  virtue  above  all  others,  for 
they  are  commonly  impostors.     There  are  exceptions* 
however,  to  this  rule,  for  we  hear  of  prudes  that  have 
been  made  chaste,   bullies  that  have    been  brave,    and 
saints  that  have  been  religious*      Confide    only   where 
your  own  observation  shall  direct  you  ;  observe  not  only 
what  is  said,   but  how  it  is  said,  and  if  you    have  pene- 
tration, you  may  find  out  the  truth  better  by  your  eye& 
than  your  ears  ;  in  short,  never  take   a  character  upon- 
common   report,    but  inquire  into  it  yourself ;   for  com- 
mon report,  though  it  is  right  in  general,  may  be  wrong 
in  particulars. 

24.  Beware  of  those  who,  en,  a  slight  acquaintance, 
make  a  tender  of  their  friendship,  and  seem  to  place  a 
confidence  in  you  ;  'tis  ten    to  one  but  they  deceive  and 
betray    you  :  however  do  not  rudely   reject  them  upon 
such    a   supposition  ;  you  may  be  civil  to  them,  though 
you  do  not  entrust  them*     Silly   men  are  apt  to    solicit 
your  friendship,  and  unbosom  themselves  upon  the  first 
acquaintance :    such   friends    cannot  be    worth    hearing, 
their  friendship  being  as  slender  as  their  understanding  ; 
and  if  they  proffer  their  friendship  with  a  design  to  make 
a  property  of  you,  they  are  dangerous  acquaintance  in- 
deed. 

25.  Not  but  the  little  friendships  of  the  weak  may  be 
of  some  use  to  you,  if  you  do  not  return  the  compliment ; 
and  it  may  not  be  amiss  to  seem  to  accept  those  of  design- 
ing men,  keeping  them,   as  it  were,  in  play,    that  they 
may  not  be  openly  your  enemies  ;  for«  their  enmity  is 
the  next  dangerous  thing  to  their  friendship.     We  may 
certainly   hold  their  vices  in  abhorrence,  without  being 
marked  out  as  their  personal  enemy.    The  general  rule 


and  English  Teacher's  As  s in  T AN T  ,  225 

is  to  have  a  real  reserve  with  almost  every  one,  and  a 
seeming  reserve  with  almost  no  one  ;  for  it  is  very  dis- 
gusting to  seem  reserved,  and  very  dangerous  not  to  be 
so.  Few  observe  the  true  medium.  Many  are  ridiculously- 
mysterious  upon  trifles,  and  many  indiscreetly  communi- 
cative of  all  they  know. 

26.  There  is    a  kind   of    short-lived    friendship  that 
takes  place  among  young  men,  from  a  connection  in  their 
pleasures  only  ;  a  friendship  too  often  attended  with  bad 
consequences.     This  companion  of  your  pleasures,  young 
end   unexperienced,  will  probably,  in   the  heat  of  con- 
vivial   mirth,    vow  a  perpetual  friendship,    and   unfold 
Limself  to  you  without  the  least  reserve  ;  but 'new  asso- 
ciations, change  of  fortune,  or  change  of  place,  may  soon 
break  this  ill  timed  connection,  and  an  improper  use  may 
be  made  of  it. 

27.  Be  one,  if  you  will,  in  young  companies,  and  bear 
your  part  like  others  in  the  social  festivity  of  youth  ;  nay, 
trust  them  with  your  innocent  frolics,  but  keep  your  se- 
rious matters  to  yourself;  and  if  yon  must   at   any  time 
make  them  known,  let  it  be  to  some  tri^d  friend  of  great 
experience  ;  and  that  nothing  may  tempt  him  to  become 
your  rival,   let  that  friend  be  in   a  different  walk  of  life 
from  yourself. 

Were  I  to  hear  a  man  making  strong  protestations,  and 
swearing  to  the  truth  of  a  thing,  that  is  in  itself  probable 
and  very  likely  to  be,  I  shall  doubt  his  veracity  ;  for  when 
he  takes  such  pains  to  make  me  believe  it,  it  cannot  be 
with  a  p  cod  design. 

23.  There  is  a  certain  easiness  or  false  modesty  in  most 
young  people,  that  cither  makes  them  unwilling,  or 
ashamed  to  refuse  any  thing  that  is  asked  of  them.  There 
is  also  an  unguarded  openness  about  them  that  wakes 
them  the  ready  prey  of  the  artful  and  designing.  They 
are  easily  led  away  by  the  feigned  friendships  of  a  knave 
or  a  fool,  and  too  rashly  place  a  confidence  in  them, 
that  terminates  in  their  loss,  and  frequently  in  their  ruin. 
Btware,  therefore,  as  I  said  before,  of  these  proffered 
friendships  ;  repay  them  with  compliments,  but  not 
with  confidence.  Never  let  your  vanity  make  you  sup- 
pose that  people  become  your  friends  upon  a  slight  ac- 
quaintance :  for  good  c  Sices  must  be  shown  on  both  sides 


225      The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

to  create  a  friendship  :  it  will  not  thrive,  unless  its  love 
be  mutual  ;  and  it  requires  time  to  ripen  it. 

29.  There  is  still  among  young  people  another  kind 
of  friendship  merely  nominal,  warm  indeed  for  the  time, 
but  fortunately  of  no  long  continuance.  This  friendship 
takes  its  rise  from  their  pursuing  the  same  course  of  riot 
and  debauchery  ;  their  purses  are  open  to  each  other, 
they  tell  one  another  all  they  know,  they  embark  in  the 
same  quarrels,  and  stand  by  each  other  on  all  occasions. 
I  should  rather  call  this  a  confederacy  against  good  mor- 
als and  good  manners,  and  think  it  deserves  the  severest 
lash  of  the  law  ;  but  they  have  the  impudence  to  call  it 
friendship.  However,  it  is  often  as  suddenly  dissolved,  as 
it  is  hastily  contracted  ;  some  accident  disperses  them,  and 
they  presently  forget  each  other,  except  it  is  to  betray  and 
laugh  at  their  own  egregious  folly. 

In  short,  the  sum  of  the  whole  is,  to  make  a  wide 
difference  between  companions  and  friends  :  for  a  very- 
agreeable  companion  has  often  proved  a  very  dangerous 
friend. 


Choice  of  Company. 

J.rTPHE  next  thing  to  the  choice  of  friends  is  the^ 
jL  choice  of  your  company. 

Endeavor  as  much  as  you  can  to  keep  good  company, 
and  the  company  of  your  superiors  :  for  you  will  be  held 
in  estimation  according  to  the  company  you  keep.  By 
superiors  I  do  not  mean  so  much  with  regard  to  birth, 
as  merit,  and  the  light  in  which  they  are  considered  by  the 
world. 

2.  There  are  two  sorts  of  good  company  ;  the  one 
consists  of  persons  of  birth,  rank,  and  fashion  ;  the  other 
of  those  who  are  distinguished  by  some  peculiar  merit, 
in  any  liberal  art  or  science  ;  as  men  of  letters,  &c.  and 
a  mixture  of  these  is  what  I  would  have  understood  by 
good  company  ;  fork  is  not  what  particular  sets  of  peo- 
ple shatl  call  themselves,  but  what  the  people  in  general 
acknowledge  to  be  so,  and  are  the  accredited  good  com- 
pany of  the  place* 


and  English  Teacher's  As  s  i  s  T  A  N  T  .  2  27 

3.  Now  and  then,  persons  without  either  birth,  rank, 
or  character,  will  creep  into  good  company,  under  the 
protection  of  some  considerable  personage  ;  but,  in  gen- 
eral, none  are  admitted  of  mean  degree,  or  infamous  mor- 
al character. 

In  this  fashionable  good  company  alone,  can  you  learn 
the  best  manners  and  the  best  language  ;  for,  as  there  is 
no  legal  standard  to  form  them  by,  'tis  here  they  are  es- 
tablished. 

It  may  possibly  be  questioned,  whether  a  man  has  it 
always  in  his  power  to  get  into  good  company  :  undoubt- 
edly, by  deserving  it,  he  has  ;  provided  he  is  in  circum- 
stances which  enable  him  to  live  and  appear  in  the  style  of 
a  gentleman.  Knowledge,  modesty,  and  good  breeding 
will  endear  him  to  all  that  see  him  ;  for  without  polite- 
ness, the  scholar  is  no  better  than  the  pedant,  the  philo- 
sopher than  a  cynic,  the  soldier  than  a  brute,  nor  any  man 
than  a  clown. 

4.  Though  the  company  of  men  of  learning  and  genV 
ius  is  highly  to  be  valued,  and  occasionally  coveted,  I 
would  by  no  means  have  you  always  found  in  such  com- 
pany.    As  they  do  not  live  in  the  world,  they  cannot  have 
that  easy  manner  and   address  which  I  would  wish  you  to 
acquire.     If  you  can  bear  a  part  in  such  company,  it  is 
certainly   adviseable  to   be  in  it  sometimes,   and  you  will 
be  the  more  esteemed  in  other  company  by  being  so  ;  but 
let  it  not  engross  you,  lest  you  be  considered  as  one  of  the 
literati,  which,    however  respectable  in  name,   is  not  the 
way  to  rise  or  shine  in  the  fashionable  world. 

5.  But  the  company,  which  of  all  others,  you  should 
carefully  avoid,  is  that  which  in  every  sense  of  the  word, 
may  be  called  low  ;  low  in  birth,  low  in  rank,  low  in  parts, 
and  low  in   manners  ;  that  company,  who,   insignificant 
and  contemptible  in  themselves,  think  it  an  honor  to  be 
seen  with  you^  and  who  will  flatter  your  follies,  nay  your 
very  vices,  to  keep  you  with  them. 

6.  Though  you  may  think  such  a  caution  unnecessary, 
/do  not-,  for  many  a  young  gentleman  of  sense  and  rank 
has  been  led  by  his  vanity  to  keep  such  company,  till  he 
has  been  degraded,  villifiecl  and  undone. 

'The  vanity  I  mean,  is  that  of  being  the  first  of  the 
dompany.  This  pride  though  too  common,  is  idle  to 


£28      The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITCJ, 

the  last  degree*  Nothing  in  the  world  lets  a  man  dov,  n  so 
imuch.  For  the  sake  of  dictating,  being  applauded  and 
admired  by  this  low  company,  he  is  disgraced  and  dis- 
qualified for  better.  Depend  upon  it,  in  the  estimation  of 
mankind  you  will  sink  or  rise  to  the  level  of  the  company 
you  keep. 

7.  Be  it  then  your  ambition  to  get  into  the  best  com- 
pany ;  and   when    there,  imitate  their   virtues,  but   not 
their  vices.     You  have  no  doubt,  often  heard  of  genteel 
and  fashionable  vices.     These  are  whoring,  drinking,  and 
gaming.     It  has  happened  that  some  men  even  with  these 
rices,    have  been  admired  and   esteemed.     Understand 
this  matter  rightly  ;  it  is  not  their  vices  for  which  they 
are  admired  ;  but  for  some  accomplishments  they  at  the 
same   time    possess  ;  for  their   parts,    their  learning,  or 
their  good  breeding.     Be  assured,  were  they  free  from 
their  vices,   they   would   be   much   more    esteemed.     In 
these  mixed  characters,  the  bad  part  is  overlooked,  for 
the  sake  of  the  good. 

8.  Should  you  be  unfortunate  enough  to  have  any  vices 
of  your  own,  add  not  to  their  number  by  adopting  the  vices 
of  others.     Vices  of  adoption  are  of  all  others  the  most 
unpardonable,  for  they  have  not  inadvertency  to  plead. 
If  people  had  no  vices  but  their  own,  few  would  have  so 
many  as  they  have. 

Imitate,  then,  only  the  perfections  you  meet  with  ; 
copy  the  politeness,  the  address,  the  easy  manners  of 
well  bred  people  ;  and  remember,  let  them  shine  ever  so 
bright,  if  they  have  any  vices,  they  are  so  many  blemish- 
es, which  it  would  be  as  ridiculous  to  imitate,  as  it  would 
to  m^ke  an  artificial  wart  upon  one's  face,  because  some 
very  handsome  man  had  the  misfortune  to  have  a  natural 
one  upon  his. 


Laughter. 

4.  T    ET  us  now  descend  to  minuter  matters,  which  tho* 
JL-J  not  so  important  as%those  we  have  mentioned,  arc 

still  far  from  inconsiderate.     Of  these  laughter  is  one. 
Frequent  and  loud  laughter  is  a  sure   sign  of  a  weak 


and  JLiiglish  Teacher1  s  ASSISTANT.  239 

mind  and  no  less  characteristic  of  a  lo'vV  education.  It 
is  the  manner  in  which  low  bred  men  express  their  silly 
j,oy,  at  silly  things,  and  they  call  it  being  merry. 

2.  I  do  not  recommend  upon   all  occasions  a  solemn 
.countenance.     A    man   may  smile  ;  but   if  he  would  ba 
thought  a  gentleman  end  a  man  of  sense,  he  should  by  no 
Cleans  laugh.     True  wit  never  yet  made  a  man  of  fashion 
laugh  j  he   is  above  it.     It   may  create   a  smile  ;   but  as 
loud  laughter  shows  that   a  man  has  not  the  command  of 
.himself,  every   one   who   would  wish  to   appear  sensible, 
must  abhor  it. 

A  man's  going  to  sit  clown,  on  a  supposition  thathe  lias 
a  chair  behind  him,  and  fulling  for  want  of  one,  occasions 
a  general  laugh,  when  the  best  piece  cf  wit  v\cukl  not 
do  it ;  a  sufficient  proof  ho \v  low  and  unbecoming  laugh- 
ter is. 

3.  Besides,  could  the  immoderate  laugher  hoar  his  own 
noite,  or  s'^e  the  faces   he  makes,  he  would  despise  him- 
self for  his  folly.     Laughter  being  generally  supposed  to 
be   the  effect   of  gaiety,  its  absurdity   is  not  properly  at- 
tended to  ;   but   a  little  reflection   will    easily   restrain   it, 
and  when  you  are  told  it  is  a  mark  of  low  breeding,  I  per- 
suade myself  you  will  endeavor  to  avoid  it. 

4.  Some   people   have  a  silly  trick  of  laughing  when- 
ever they  speak,  so  that  they  are  always  on  the  grin,  and 
.their  fuces  are  ever  distorted.     This  and  a  thousand  other 
tricks,  such  as  scratching  their  heads,  twirling  their  hats, 
fr.mbiing  with  their  button,  playing  with  their  lingers,  <kc. 
are  acquired  from  a  false  modesty  at  their  first  out  set  in 
life.     Being  shame-faced  in    company,  they  try  a  variety 
of  ways  to  keep  themselves  in  countenance  ;    thus   they- 
fall  into  those  auk  ward  habits  I  have  mentioned,  which 
grow  upon  them,  and  in  time  become  habitual. 

Nothing  is  more  repugnant  likewise  to  good  breeding 
than  horse  play  of  any  sort,  romping,  throwing 'things 
at  one  another's  heads,  and  so  on.  They  may  pass  well 
enough  with  the  mob,  but  they  lessen  and  degrade  the 
gentleman. 


230      The  Ycitr.j-  Gen'lcmun  and  Lady's 

Sundry  !if:le  dcc-omplishrnents.. 

I.  T  HAVE  had  reason  to  observe  before,  that  various 
JL  little  matters,  apparently  trifling  in  themselves, 
conspire  to  form  the  whole  of  pleasing,  as  in  a  well  finish- 
ed portrait,  a  variety  of  colors  combine  to  complete  the 
piece.  It  not  being  necessary  to  dwell  much  upon  them, 
I  shall  content  myself  with  just  mentioning  them  as  they 
occur. 

2.  To  do  the  honors  of  a  table  gracefully,  is   one  of 
the  outlines  of  a  well  bred  man  ;  and  to  carve  well,  is  an 
reticle,  little   as   it  inay  seem,  that   is  useful  twice   every 
day,  and  the  doing  of  which   ill  is  not  only  troublesome 
to  one's  self,  but  renders  us  disagreeable   and  ridiculous 
10  others.     We   arc   always   in  pain  for  a  man,  who,  in- 
stead of  cutting  up   a  fowl  genteely,  is  hacking  for  half  an 
hour  across  the  bone,  greasing  himself,  and  bespattering 
the  company  with  the  sauce.     Use,  with  a  little  attention, 
is  all  that  is  requisite  to  acquit  yourself  well  in  this  par- 
ticular. 

3.  To  be  well  received,  you  must  also  pay  some  atten- 
tion- to  your   behavior  at  table,   where  it  is  exceedingly 
rude  to    scratch  any  part  of  your  horly,   to  spit,    or  blow 
your  nose,   if   you  can   possibly   avoid  it,  to  eat  greedily, 
to  lean  your  elbows  on  the  table,  to  pick  your  teeth  be- 
fore the  dishes  are  removed,  or  to  leave  the  table  before 
grace  is  said. 

4.  Drinking  of  healths  is  now  growing  out  of  fashion, 
and  is  very  impolite  in  good  company.     Custom  once  had 
made  it  universal,  but  the  improved  manners  of  the  age 
now  render  it  vulga'%     What  can  be  more  rude  or  ridicu- 
lous than  to  interrupt  persons  at  their  meals,  with  an  un- 
necessary compliment  ?   Abstain  then  from  this  silly  cus- 
tom, where  you  find  it  out  of  use  ;  and  use  it  only  at  those 
tables  where  it  continues  general. 

5.  A   polite    manner  of  refusing  to  comply  with  the 
solicitations  of  a  company,   is  also  very   necessary  to   be 
learnt ;   for  a   young  man  who  seems  to  have  no  will  of 
his  own,  but  do  -  liing  that  is  asked  of  him,  may  be 
a  very   good   na-.^r-jd   fellow,  but  he   is  a  very  silly  one. 

/'ink,  at  any  man's  house,   more 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSIST  A  XT.  2  3  I 

than  you  think  is  wholesome,  you  may  say,  "  you  wish 
you  could,  but  that  so  little  makes  you  both  drunk  anl 
sick,  that  you  shall  only  be  bad  company  by  doing  it  :  of 
course,  beg  to  be  excused." 

6.  If  desired  to  play  at  cards  -deeper  than  you   would, 
refuse   it  ludicrously;  tell   them,  "If  you   vrtre  sure  to 
"  lose  you  might  possibly   sit  down  ;  but  th^t  as  l\ 

"  may  be  favorable,  you  dread  the 

"  much  money,  ever  since  you  found  what  aj 

"  it  was  to  poor  Harlequin,  and  therefore  you  are  resoiv- 

"  ed  never  to  put  yourself  in   the  way  of  winning  more 

"  than   such  and  such  a  sum  a  day."     This  Sight  way  of 

declining  invitations  to  vice  and  folly,  is  more  becovr 

young  man,   than  philosophical  or    sententious   refusal-:, 

which  would  only  be  laughed  at. 

7.  Now  lam  on  the  subject  of  cards,  I    must  not  omit 
mentioning  the   necessity  of  play  ;  well  and  g-tr> 
teely,  if  you  would  be  thought  to  h  ,:;oo(l  corr 

I  would  by  no  means  recommend  playing  at  cards,  ns  a 
part  of  your  study,  lest  you  should  grow  too  fond  of  i:? 
and  the  consequence  prove  bad.  It  were  better  not  ts 
know  a  diamond  from  a  club,  than  to  become  a  gambler  ; 
but,  as  custom  has  introduced  innocent  card  playing  ?.t 
most  friendly  meetings,  it  marks  the  gentleman  to'  handle 
them  genteely,  and  play  them  well  ;  and  as  I  hope  you 
will  play  only  for  small  sums,  should  you  lose  your  mon- 
ey, pray  lose  it  with  temper  :  or  win,  receive  your  win- 
nings without  either  elation  or  greediness. 

8.  To  write  well  and  correct,  and  in  a  pleasing  style, 
is  another  part  of  polite  education.     Every   man  who  has 
the  use  of  his  eyes  and  his  right  hand,  can  write  whatever 
hand  he  pleases*     Nothing  is  so  illiberal  as  a  school  boy's 
scrawl.     I  would  not  have  you  learn  a  stiff  formal  hand 
writing,  like   that  of  a  school  master,  but  a  genteel,  le- 
gible, and  liberal  hand,  and  to  be  able  to  write  quick. 
As  to  the  correctness  and  elegancy  of  yonr  writing,  at- 
tention to  grammar  does  the  one,  and  to  the  best  authors, 
the  other.     Epistolary  correspondence  should  not  be  car- 
ried on  in  a  studied  or  affected  style,  but  the  language 
should  flow  from  the  pen,  as  naturally  and  as  easily  as  it; 
would  from  the  mouth.     In  short,  a  letter  should  be  pen- 
ned in  the  same  style  as  you  would  talk  to  your  friend,  if 
he  was  present. 


£32       T'n?  To  ting  'Gsnftzman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

9.  If  writing  well  shows  the  gentleman,  much  mors 
?o  does  spelling  well.     It  is  so  essentially  necessary  for  a 
gentleman,  or  a  man  of  letters,  that  one  false  spelling  may 
f. :;  a  ridicule  on  him  for  the  remainder  of  his  life.  Words 
.in   books  are  generally  well  spelled,   according  to  the  or- 
thography of  the  age  ;  reading  therefore  with  attention 
will  teach  every  one  to  spell  right.    It  sometimes  happens 
that  words  shall  be  spelled  differently  by  different  authors  ; 
but,  if  you  spell    them   upon  the  authority  of  one  in  esti- 
mation of  the  public,    you  will  escape  ridicule.     Where 
there  is  but  one  way  of  spelling  a  word,  by  your  spelling  it 
wrong,   you  will  be  sure  to  be  laughed  at.     For  a  woman 
of  a  tolerable  education  would  laugh  at  and  despise   her 
lover,  if  he  wrote  to  her,  and  the   words  were  ill  spelled. 

.rticulr.ny  attentive  then  to  your  spelling. 

10.  There  is  nothing  that  a  man  at  his  first  appearance 
in  life  ought  more  to  dread  than  having  any  ridicule  fixed 
on  him.     In  the  estimation  even  of  the  roost  rational  men, 
it  will  lessen  him,  but  ruin  him  with  all  the  rest.     Many, 
a  man  has  been   undone  by  a  ridiculous  nick-name.     The 
causes  of  nick-names  among  well  bred  men,  are  generally 
the  little    defects  in  manner,  air,  or  dress.     To  have  the 
appellation  of  ill  bred,  aukward,  muttering,  left  legged,  o? 
any  other  tacked  always  to  your  name,   would  injure  you 
more  than  you  are  aware  of ;  avoid  then  these  little  defects* 
(and  they  are  easily  avoided)  and  you  need  never  fear  a 
nick-name. 

11.  Some  young  men  are  apt  to  think,  that  they   can- 
not be  complete   gentlemen,  without   becoming   men  of 
pleasure.  A  rake  is  made  up  of  the  meanest  and  most  dis- 
graceful vices.     They  all  combine  to  degrade  his  charac- 
ter, and  ruin  his  health  and  fortune.     A  man  of  pleasure 
will  refine  upon   the  enjoyments  of  the  age,  attend  them 
with  decency,  and  partake  of  them  becomingly. 

12.  Indeed,  he    is    too   often  less  scrupulous  than  he 
should  be,  and  frequently  has  cause  to  repent  it.     A  man 
of  pleasure,   at  best,   is  but  a  dissipated  being,  and,  what 
the  rational  part  of  mankind  must  abhor  ;   1  mention    it, 
however,  lest,  in  taking  up  the  man  of  pleasure,  you  should 
fall  into  the  rake  ;   for  of  two  evils  always  cluise  the  least, 
A  dissolute,   flagitious  footman  may  make  as  good 

as  a  man  of  the  first  quality.     Few  men  can  be  men  of 
pleasure  ,  every  man  may  be  a  rake. 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  533 

13.  There  is  a  certain  dignity  that  should  be  preserved 
in  all  our  pleasures  ;  in  love,  a  man  may   lose  his  heart, 
without  losing  his  nose  ;  at  table,  a  man  may  have  a  dis- 
tinguished palate,  without  being  a  glutton  ;   he  may  love 
wine  without  being  a  drunkard  ;  he   may  game  without 
being  a  gambler,  and  so  on. 

14.  Every  virtue  has  its  kindred  vice,  and  every  pleas- 
ure its  neighboring  disgrace.     Temperance  and  modera- 
tion mark  the  gentleman,  but  excess  the  blackguard.    At- 
tend carefully,  then,   to  the   line  that  divides  them  ;  and 
remember,  stop  rather  a  yard  short,  tfean  step  an  inch  be- 
yond it.     Weigh  the  present  enjoyment  of  your  pleasures 
against  the   necessary  consequences  of  them,   and  I  will, 
kave  you  to  your  own  determination. 

15.  A   gentleman  has  ever  some  regard  also  to  the 
choice  of  his  amusements.     If  at  cards,  he  will  not  be  seea 
at  cribbage,  all-fours,  or  putt  ;  or,  in  sports  of  exercise,  at 
skittles,  foot-ball,  leap-frog,  cricket,  driving  of  coaches,  8cc. 
but  will  preserve  a  propriety  in  every  part  of  his  conduct ; 
knowing,  that  any  imitation  of  the  manners  of  the  mob, 
will   unavoidably    stamp  him  with   vulgarity.     There  is 
another  amusement  too,  which  I  cannot  help  calling  illib- 
eral, that  is,  playing  upon  any  musical  instrument. 

16.  Music  is  commonly   reckoned  one  of  the   liberal 
•arts,  and  undoubtedly  is  so  ;  but  to  be  piping  or  fiddling 
at  a  concert    is  degrading  to  a  man  of  fashion.     If  you 
love  music,  hear  it ;  pay  fiddlers  to  play  to  you,  but  never 
fiddle  yourself.     It  makes  a  gentleman    appear  frivolous 
and    contemptible,   leads    him    frequently  into  bad  com- 
pany and  wastes  that  time  which  might  otherwise  be  well 
employed. 

17.  Secrecy  is  another  characteristic  of  good  breeding. 
Be   careful   not   to  tell  in  one  company,  what  you  see  or 
hear  in  another  ;  much  less  to  divert  the  present  company 
at  the  expense  of  the  last.     Things  apparently  indifferent 
may,  when  often   repeated  and  told    abroad,  have  much 
more  serious  consequences  than  imagined.     In  conversa- 
tion there  is  generally  a  tacit  reliance,   that  what  is   said 
will  not  be  repeated  ;  and  a  man,  though  not  enjoined  to 
secrecy,  will  be  excluded  company,  if  found  to  be  a  tattler  ; 
besides,  he  will  draw  himself  into  a  thousand  scrapes,  rv.id 
every  one  will  be  afraid  to  speak  before  him. 

U  2 


134      The  Young  Gcniteiixin  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

IS.  Pulling  out  your  watch  in  company  unasked,  either 
at  home  or  abroad,  is  a  mark  of  ill  breeding  ;  if  at  home, 
it  appears  as  if  you  were  tired  of  your  company,  and  wish- 
ed them  to  be  gone  ;  if  abroad,  as  if  the  hours  drag  heav- 
ily, and  you  wished  to  be  gone  yourself,  If  you  want  to 
know  the  time,  withdraw  ;  besides,  as  the  taking  what  is 
called  a  French  leave  was  introduced,  that  on °cnc  per- 
son's leaving  the  company  the  rest  might  not  be  disturbed, 
looking  at  your  watch  does  what  that  piece  of  politeness 
was  designed  to  prevent  :  it  is  a  kind  of  dictating  to  dl 
present,  and  telling  them  it  is  time,  or  almost  time,  to 
break  up. 

19.  Among  other  things,  let  me  caution  you  against 
ever  being  in  a  hurry  ;  a  man  of  sense  may  be  in  haste, 
but  he  is  never  in  a  hurry  ;  convinced,  that  hurry  is  the 
surest  way  to  make  him  do  what  he  undertakes  ill.  To 
be  in  a  hurry,  is  a  proof  that  the  business  we  embark  in  is 
too  great  for  us  ;  of  course,  it  is  the  mark  of  little  minds, 
that  are  puzzled  and  perplexed  when  they  should  be  cod. 
and  deliberate  ;  they  wish  to  do  every  thing  at  once,  and 
are  thus  able  to  do  nothing.  Be  steady  then  in  all  your 
engagements  ;  look  round  you  before  you  begin  ;.  and 
remember  that  you  had  better  do  half  of  them  well,., 
and  leave  the  rest  undone,  than  to  do  the  whole  indif- 
ferently. 

20.  i?rom  a  kind  of  false  modesty,  most  young  men  are 
tipt  to  consider  familiarity  as  unbecoming.     Forwardness.; 
I  allow  is  so  ;  but  there  is  a  decent  familiarity  that  is  ne- 
cessary in  the  course  of  life.     Mere  formal  visits,  upon. 
formal  invitations,  are  not  the  thing  ;  they  create  no  con- 
nection, nor  will  they  prove  of  service  to  you  ;  it  is  the 
careless  and  easy  ingress  and  egress,   at  all   hours,  that 
secures  an  acquaintance  to  ©ur  interest  and  this  is  acquir- 
ed by  a  respectful  familiarity  entered  into,  without  forfeit- 
ing your  consequence. 

21.  In  acquiring   new  acquaintance,  be  careful  not  to, 
neglect  your  old,  for  a  slight  of  this  kind  is  seldom  for- 
given.    If  you  cannot  be  with   your  former  acquaintance 
so  often  as  you  used  to  be,  while  you  had  no  others,  take 
c*re  not  to  give  them  cause  to  think  you   neglect  them  ; 
call  upon  them  frequently,  though  you  cannot  stay  lonr; 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  135 

with  them  ;  tell  them  you  are  sorry  to  leave  them  so  soon  ; 
and  nothing  should  take  you  away  but  certain  engage- 
ments which  good  manners  oblige  you  to  attend  to  ;  for 
it  will  be  your  interest  to  make  all  the  friends  you  can, 
$ncl  as  few  enemies  as  possible. 

22.  By    friends,  I  would  not  be  understood  to  mean 
confidential  ones  ;  but  persons  who  speak  of  you  respect- 
fully, and  who,   consistent  with  their  own  interest  would 
wish  to  be   of  service  to  you,   and  would  rather  c!o  you 
good  than  havrru 

Another  thing  I  must  recommend  to  you,  as  character- 
istic of  a  polite  education,  and  of  having  kept  good  compa- 
ny, is  a  graceful  manner  of  conferring  favors.  The  most 
obliging  things  may  be  done  so  aukwardly  as  to  oiTencl, 
while  the  most  disagreeable  things  may  be  done  so  agree- 
ably as  to  please. 

23.  A  few  more  articles  of  general  advice,  and  I  have 
clone  ;  the  first  is  on  the  subject  of  vanity.     It  is  the  com- 
mon failing  of  youth,  and  as  such   ought  to  be  carefully 
guarded  against.     The  vanity  I  mean,  is  that  which,  if 
given  way  to,  stamps  a  man  a  coxcomb,  a  character  he 
v/illfind  a  difficulty  to  get  rid  of  perhaps  as  long  as  he 
lives.  Now  this  vanity  shows  itself  in  a  variety  of  shapes  ; 
one  man  shall  pride  himself  in  taking  the  lead  in  all  con- 
versations, and  peremptorily  deciding  upon  every  subject  ; 
another  desirous  of  appearing  successful  among  the  wo- 
men, shall  insinuate  the  encouragement  he  has  met  with, 
the  conquests  he   makes*  and  perhaps  boasts  of  favors 
i.e  never  received  ;  if  he  speaks  the  truth,  he  is  ungen- 
erous ;  if  false,  he  is  a  villain  ;  Jvat  whether  true  or  false, 
lie  defeats  his  own  purposes,  overthrows  the  reputation  he 
wishes  to  erect,  and  draws  upon  himself  contempt  in  the 
room  of  respect. 

24.  Some  men  are  vain  enough  to  think  they  acquire 
consequence  by  alliance,  or  by  an  acquaintance  with  per^ 
sons  of  distinguished  character  or  abilities  :  hence   they 
are  eternally  talking  of  their   grand-father,  lord  such-a-* 
one  ;  their  kinsman,    Sir   William  such  a-one  -,  or  their 
intimate  friend,  Dr.  such-a-one,  with  whom  perhaps,  they 
are  scarce  acquainted.     If  they  are  ever  found  out  (and 
that  they  are  sure  to  be  one  time  or  other)  they  become 
ridiculous  and  contemptible  j  but  even  admitting  what 


$  3  6      The  Young  Gentleman  and  Ladifs  MON  I  T  OR . 

they  say  to  be  true,  what  then  ?  A  man's  intrinsic  merit 
does  not  rise  from  an  ennobled  alliance,  or  a  reputable 
acquaintance. 

25.  A  rich   man  never   borrows.     When  angling  for 
praise,  modesty  is  the  surest  bait.     If  we  would   wish  to 
shine  in  any  particular  character,  we   must  never  affect 
that  character*     An  affectation  of  courage   will  make  a 
man  pass  for  a  bully  ;   an  affectation  of  wit,  for  a  cox- 
comb ;  and  an  affectation  of  sense,  for  a  fool.  3  Not  that 
I  would    recommend    bashfulness  or   timidity  ;    no ;  1 
would  have  every  one  know  his  own  value,  yet  not  dis- 
cover that  he  knows  it,  but  leave  his  merit  to  be  found 
out  by  others. 

26.  Another  thing  worth  your  attention  is,  if  in  com- 
pany with  an  inferior,  not  to  let  him  feel  his  inferiority  ; 
if  he  discovers  it   himself  without   your  endeavors,   the? 
fault  is  not  yours,  and  he  will  not  blame  you  ;  but  if  you 
take  pains  to  mortify  him,  or  to  make  him.  feel  himself 
inferior  to  you  in  abilities,  fortune  or  rank,  it  is  an  insult 
that  will  not  readily  be  forgiven.     In  point  of  abilities,  it-- 
would be  unjust,  as  they  are  cut  of  his  power  ;  in  point: 
of  rank  or  fortue,  it  is  ill  rratured  and  ill  bred. 

27.  This  rule  is  never  more  necessary  than  at  table, 
where  there  cannot  be  a  greater  insult  than  to  help  an  in- 
ferior to  a  part  he   dislikes,  or  a  part  that  may  be  worse 
than  ordinary,  and  to  take  the  best  to  yourself.     If  you  at 
any  time  invite  an  inferior  to  your  table,  you   put  him, 
during-  the  time  he  is  there,  upon  an  equality  with  you, 
and  it  is  an  act  of  tha  highest  rudeness  to  treat  him  in  any 
respect  slightingly.  I  \voiUd  rather  double  my  attention  to 
such  a  person,  and  treat  him  with  additional  respect,  lest", 
he  should  even  suppose  himself  neglected. 

28.  There  cannot  be  a  greater  savageness,  or  cruelty, 
or  any  thing  more  degrading  to  a  man  of  fashion,  than 
to   put  upon  or  take    unbecoming   liberties   with   him, 
whose  modesty,  humility,  or  respect,  will  not  suffer  him 
to  retaliate.     True  politeness  consists  in   making  every 
body  happy  about  you  °.  and  as  to  mortify  is  to  render 
unhappy,  it  can  be  nothing  but  the  worst  of  breeding- 
Make  it  a  rule,  rather  to   flatter  a  persons'  vanity  than 
otherwise  ;  make  him,  if  possible,  more  in    love   wilh 
himself;  and  you  will  be  certain   to  gain  bis 


and  English  Teacher 's  ASSISTANT.  237 

never  tell  him  any  thing  he  may  not  like  to  hear,  nor  say 
things  that  will  put  him  out  of  countenance,  but  let  it  be 
your  study  on  all  occasions  to  please  :  this  will  be  makfag- 
friends  instead  of  enemies,  and  be  a  means  of  serving 
yourself  in  the  end. 

29.  Never  be  witty  at  the  expense  of  any  one  present, 
nor  gratify  that  idle  inclination  which  is  too  strong  in  most 
young  men,  I  mean,  laughing  at,  or  ridiculing  the  weak- 
nesses or  infirmities  of  others,  by  way  of  diverting  the 
company,  or  displaying  your  own  superiority.     Most  peo- 
ple have  their  weaknesses,  their  peculiar  likings  and  aver- 
sions.    Some  cannot  bear  the  sight  of  a  cat  ;  others  the 
smell  of  cheese,  and  so  on  ;  was  you  to  hiueh  at  these  men 
for  their  antipathies,  or  by  design  or  inattention  to  bring 
them  in  their  way,  you  could  not  insult  them  more. 

30.  You  may  possibly  thus  gain  the  laugh  on  your  side 
for  the  present,  but  it  will   make  the  person,  perhaps,  at 
whose  expense  you-  are  merry,  your  enemy  for  ever  after  ; 

ven  those  who  laugh  with  you,  will  on  a  little  re- 
lieciioi),  fear  you  and  probably  despise  you  :  whereas  to 
procure  what  one  likes,  and  to  remove  what  the  other  hates, 
would  show  them  that  they  were  objects  of  your  attention, 
and  possibly  make  them  more  your  friends  than  much, 
greater  services  vould  have  done. 

31.  If  you  have   wit  use  it  to  please,    but   not  to  hurt. 
You   may  shine,  but  take   care   not  to  scorch.     In  short, 
never  seem  to  see  the  faults  of  others.  Though  among  the 
mass  of  men  there  are,   doubtless,  numbers   of  fools  and 
knaves,  yet  were  we  to  tell  every  one   of  these  we  meet 
with,  that  we  know  them  to  be^so,  we  should  be  in  per- 
petual war.     I  would  detest  the   knave  and  pity  the   fool, 
wherever  I  found  him,  but  I   would  let  neitheir  of  them 
know  unnecessarily  that  I  did  so  ;  as  I  would  not  be  in- 
dustrious to  make  myself  enemies.     As  one   must  please 
others  then,    in  order  to  be  pleased  one's  self;   consider 
what  is  agreeable  to  you  must  be  agreeable  to  them,  and 
conduct  yourself  accordingly. 

32.  Whispering  in    company  is   another    act    of  ill 
edible  ;  it   seems  to  insinuate  either  that  the  persons 

•^  we  would  not  wish  should  hear,  are  unworthy  of 
our  confidence,  or  it  may  lead  them  to  suppose  we  are 
speaking  improperly  of  them  ;  on  botli  accounts,  therefore? 
abstain  from  iu 


233       The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

So  pulling  out  one  letter  after  another,  and  reading 
them  in  company,  or  cutting  or  pairing  one's  nails,  is 
unpolite  and  rude.  It  seems  to  say,  we  are  weary  of  the 
conversation,  and  are  in  want  of  some  amusement  to  pass 
away  the  time. 

S3.  Humming  a  tune  to  ourselves,  drumming  with  our 
fingers  on  the  table,  making  a  noise  with  our  feet,  and 
such  like,  are  all  breaches  of  good  manners,  and  indica- 
tions of  our  contempt  for  the  persons  present ;  therefore 
they  should  not  be  indulged* 

Walking  fast  in  the  steeets  is  a  mark  of  vulgarity,, 
implying  hurry  of  business  ;  it  may  appear  well  in  a  me- 
chanic or  tradesman,  but  suits  ill  with  the  character  of 
a  gentleman  or  man  of  fashion, 

Staring  any  person  you  meet,  full  in  the  face,  is  an  act 
also  of  ill  breeding  ;  it  looks  as  if  you  saw  something 
wonderful  in  his  appearance,  and  is  therefore  a  tacit  re- 
prehension. 

34.  Eating  quick,  or  very  slow,  at  meals,  is  charac- 
teristic of  the  vulgar  ;  the  first  infers  poverty,  that  you 
have  not  had  a  good  meal  for  some  time  ;  the  last  if 
abroad,  that  you  dislike  your  entertainment,  if  at  home, 
that  you  are  rude  enough  to  set  before  your  friends  what 
you  cannot  eat  yourself.  So  again,  eating  your  soups  with 
your  nose  in  the  plate,  is  vulgar  ;  it  has  the  appearance  of 
being  used  to  hard  work)  and  of  course  an  unsteady  hand. 


Dignity  of  Manners, 

1.    A    CERTAIN  dignity  of  manners  is  absolutely ue- 
jLjL  cessary  to  make  even  the  most  valuable  character 
either  respected  or  respectable  in  the  world. 

Horse  pky,  romping,  frequent  and  loud  fits  of  laugh- 
ter, jokes,  waggery,  and  indiscriminate  familiarity,  will*- 
sink  both  merit  and  knowledge  into  a  degree  of  contempt; 
They  compose  at  most  a  merry  fellow,  and  a  merry 
fellow  was  never  yet  a  respectable  man.  Indiscriminate 
familiarity  either  offends  your  superiors,  or  else  dubs  you 
their  dependant  and  ltd  captain.  It  gives  your  inferiors 
just,  but  troublesome  and  improper  claims  of  equality.  A 


mid  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT,  23$ 

,k..ker  is  near  a-kin  to  a  buffoon  ;  and  neither  of  them  is 
t&e  least  related  to  wit. 

2.  Mimicry,  the   favorite  amusement  of  little  minds, 
has  been  ever  the   contempt  of  great  ones.     Never  give 
.way  to  it  yourself,  nor  ever  encourage  it  in  others  ;  it  is 
the  most  illiberal  of  all  buffoonery  ;  it  is  an  insult  on  the 
person  you  mimic  ,  and  insults,  I  have  often  told  you,  are 
seldom  forgiven. 

As  to  a  mimic  or  a  wag,  he  is  little  else  than  a  buffoon, 
who  will  distort  his  mouth  and  his  eyes  to  make  people 
laugh.  Be  assured,  no  one  person  ever  demeaned  him- 
self to  please  the  rest,  unless,  he  wished  to  be  thought  the 
Merry  Andrew  of  the  company,  and  whether  this  charac- 
ter is  respectable,  I  will  leave  you  to  judge. 

3.  If  a  man's  company  is  coveted  on  any  other  account 
than  his    knowledge,   his    good  sense,  or  his    manners, 
£e  is  seldom  respected  by  those  who  invite  him,  but  made 
use  of  only  to   entertain.    •"  Let's  have  such  a  one,  for 
.he  sings  a   good  song,  or,  he  is  always  joking  or  laugh- 
ing ;"   or,    u  let's  send  for  such   a  one,    for  he  is  a  good 
bottle  companion  ;"  these  are  degrading  distinctions,  that 
preclude  all  respect  and  esteem.     Whoever  is  had  (as  the 
phrase  is)    for  the    sake    of  any   qualification,  singly,    is 
merely  that  thing  he  is  had  for,  is  never  considered  in  any 
.other  light,  and,  of  course,  never  properly  respected,  let 
his  intrinsic  merits  be  what  they  will. 

4.  You   may  possibly  suppose  this  digwity  of  manners 
to  border  upon  pride  ;  but  it  differs  as  much  from  pride, 
.as  true  courage  from  blustering. 

To  flatter  a  'person  right  or  wrong,  is  abject  flattery., 
and  to  consent  readily  to  every  thing  proposed  by  a  com- 
pany, be  it  silly  or  criminal,  is  full  as  degrading,  as  to 
dispute  warmly  upon  every  subject,  and  to  contradict  upon 
all  occasions.  To  preserve  dignity,  we  should  modestly 
assert  our  own  sentiments,  though  we  politely  acquesce 
in  those  of  others. 

So  again,  to  support  dignity  of  character,  we  should 
neither  be  frivolously  curious  about  trifles,  nor  be  labori- 
ously intent  on  little  objects  that  deserve  net  a  moment's 
.attention  ;  for  this  implies  an  incapacity  in  matters  of 
greater  importance. 

A  great  deal  likewise  depends  upon  our  air,  address., 


340      The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR. 

and  expression  ;  an  aukward  address  and  vulgar  expres- 
sions infer  either  a  low  turn  of  mind,  or  a  low  education. 

5.  Insolent  contempt  or   low    envy,     is  mcompatiblQ 
also  with  dignity   of   manners*     Low  bred  persons,    for- 
tunately lifted  in  the  world,  in  fine  clothes,  and  fine  equir 
pages,  will  insolently  loek  clown  on  all  those  who  cannot 
afford  to  make  as  good  an  appearance  ;  and   they   openly 
envy  those  who  perhaps  make  a  better.     They  also  dread 
the  being  slighted  ;  of  course  are  suspicious  and  captious  ; 
are    uneasy  themselves,  and  make  every   body  else    so 
.about  them. 

6.  A  certain    degree  of  outward  seriousness  in  looks 
and  actions  gives  dignity*  while  a  constant  smirk  upon  the 
lace  (with  that  insipid  silly  smile,  fools   have  when  they 
would  be  civil)  and  whiffling  motion,  are  strong  marks  pi 
futility. 

But  above  all,  a  dignity  of  character  is  to  be  acquired 
best  by  a  certain  firmness  in  all  our  actions.  A  mean, 
timid,  and  passive  complaisance,  lets  a  man  down  more 
than  he  is  aware  of  :  but  still  his  firmness  or  resolution 
should  not  extend  to  brutality,  but  be  accompanied  with  a 
peculiar  and  engaging  softness,  or  mildness. 

7.  If  you  discover  any   hastiness  in  your  temper,  and 
find  it  apt  to  break  out  into  rough  and  unguarded  expres- 
sions, watch  it  narrowly,  and  endeavor  to  curb  it";  but  let 
no  complaisance,  no  \veak  desire  of  pleasing,  no  wheed- 
ling,   urge    you  to  do  that  which  discretion  forbids  ;   but 
persist  and  persevere    in  all  that   is  right.     In  your  con- 
nections  and  friendships  you  will   find  this  rule  of  use  to 
you.   Invite  and  preserve  attachments,  by  your  firmness  ; 
but  labor  to  keep  clear  of  enemies,  by  a  mildness  of  beha- 
vior.    Disarm  those  enemies  you  may  unfortunately  have, 
(and   few  are  w/.hout  them)  by  a  gentleness  of  manner, 
but  mak?  then,  f  vl  the  steadiness  of  your  just  resentment ; 
for  there  is  a  di [Terence  between  bearing  malice  and 
a  determined   .c- 1. -defence  ;  the  one  is  imperious,  but  the 
other  is  prr.cl  >  ;     md  justifiable. 

8.  In  dire-       g  your  servants,  or  'any  person  you  have 
a  right  to  co      nancl  ;   if  you  deliver  your  orders  mildly 
and  in    that,  engaging    manner   which  every  gentlemaQ 
should  study  to    do,  you  will   be   cheerfully,  and   conse- 
quently well  obeyed,   but  if  tyrannically,   you  won! 


and  £nglish  1  ASSISTANT.  241 

very  unwillingly  served,  if  served  at  all.  A  cool,  steady 
determination  should  show  that  you  will  be  obeyed,  but 
a  gentleness  in  the  manner  of  enforcing  that  obedience 
should  make  service  a  cheerful  one.  Thus  will  you  be 
joved  without  being  despised,  and  feared  without  being 
hated. 

9.   I  hope  I  need  not  mention  vices.     A  man  who  has 
patiently  been  kicked  out  of  company,  may  have  as  good 
;\  pretence  to  courage,  as  one  rendered  Infamous  by  his 
vices,  may  to  dignity  of  any  kind  ;   however  of  such  con- 
sequence are  appearances,  that  an  outward  decency,   and 
an  affected  dignity  of  manners,  will  even  keep  such  •, 
the  longer  from  sinking.     If  therefore  you  should 
innately  have   no  intrinsic  merit  of  your  own,   : 
possible,  the  appearance  of  it ;   and  the  wo;  j 
give  you  credit  for  the  rest.     A  versatility   of  mar. 
'as  necessary  in  social  life,  as  a  versatility  o: 
This  is  no  way  blameable,  if  ; 

;*i.     We   must,   like  the  camekon,   tl 

>f  the  persons  we  wish  to  be  \vtll  with  ;   and  it  surely 
^an  never  be  blameable,  to  endeavor  to  gain  the  good  will 
.*;r  affection  of  any  one,  if,  when  obtained,  we  do  not  mean 
:.-.buse  it. 


Rules  for  Cor 

JACK  LIZARD  was  about  fifteen  when  lie  was 
entered  in  the  university,  and  being  a  youth  of  a 
ccreat  deal  of  fire,  and  a  more  than  ordinary  application 
to  his  studies,  it  gave  his  conversation  a  very  particular 
turn.  He  had  too  much  spirit  to  hold  his  tongue  in  com- 
pany ;  but  at  the  same  time  so  little  acquaintance  with  the 
world,  that  he  did  not  know  how  to  talk  like  other  people. 
2.  After  a  year  and  a  half's  stay  at  the  university,  he 
came  down  among  us  to  pass  away  a  month  or  two  in  the 
country.  The  Erst  night  after  his  arrival,  as  we  were  at 
supper,  we  were  all  of  us  very  much  improved  by  Jack's 
table  talk.  He  told  us,  upon  the  appearance  of  a  dish  of 
wild  fowl,  that  according. to  the  opinion  of  some  natural 
•';  be  lately  come  from  the  moon. 


2  1-2       The  Young  -Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

3.  Upon  which  the   Sparkler  bursting  out  into  a  laugh? 
he  insulted   her   \vith  several  questions,    relating  to   the 
bigness  and    dibtance  of  the  moon  and  stars  ;  and  after 
every    interrogatory    \vould    be    winking  upon    me,    and 
smiling  at  his  sisters  ignorance.     Jack  gained  his  point  ; 
for  the  mother  was  pleased,    and  all  the  servants   stared 
tit  the  learning  of  their  young  master.     Jack   was  so  en- 
couraged at  this  success,  that  for  the  first  week  he  dealt 
wholly  in  paradoxes.     It  was  a  common  jest  with  him  to 
pinch  one  of  his  sister's  lap  dogs,  and  afterwards  prove  he 
could  not  feel  it. 

4.  When    the   girls  were   sorting  a  set  of  knots,    Le 
would  demonstrate  to  them  that   all   the  ribbons  were  of 
the  same  color  ;   or  rather,   says  Jack,  of  no  color  at  all. 
My    Lady     Lizard  herself,  though   she  was  not   a  little 
pleased  with  her  son's  improvements,  was  one  day  almost 
angry  with  him  ;  for  having  accidentally  burnt  her  fingers 
as  she  was  lighting  her  lamp  for  her  tea  pot,  in  the  midst 
of  her  anguish,   Jack   laid  hold  of  the  opportunity   to  in- 
struct her  that  there  was  no  such  thing  as  heat  in  fire.     In 
short,  no  day  passed  over   our  heads,    in   which  Jack  did 
not  imagine  he  made  the  whole  family  wiser  than  they 
were  before. 

5.  That  part   of  his   conversation    which  gave  me  the 
most  pain,  was  what  passed  among  those  country  gentle- 
men that  came  to  visit  us.     On  such  occasions  Jack  usual- 
ly took  upon  him  to  be  the  mouth  of  the  company  ;   and 
thinking  himself  obliged  to  be  very  merry,  would  enter- 
tain us 'with  a  great  many  odd  sayings  and  absurdities  of 
their  college  cook.     I  found  this  fellow  had  made  a  very 
strong  impression  upon  Jack's  imagination,  which  he  never 
considered  was  not  the  case  of  the  rest  of  the  company,  till 
after  many*- re  pea  ted  trials  he  found  that  his  stories  seldom 
made  any  body  luugh  but  himself. 

6.  I  all  this  while  looked  upon   Jack  as  a   young   tree 
shooting  out  into  blossoms  before  its  time  ;  the  redundan- 
cy of  which,   though  it   was  a  little  unseasonable,  seemed 
to  foretel  an  uncommon  fruitfulness. 

In  order  to  wear  out  the  vein  of  pedantry  which  ran 
through  his  conversation,  I  took  him  out  with  me  one 
evening,  and  first  of  all  insinuated  to  him  this  rule,  which 
I  had  ffivsdf  feataed  fron>  a  vcrv  gr-at  author, 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT. 

think  with  the  wise  but  talk  with  the  vulgar."  Jack's 
good  sense  soon  mode  him  reflect  that  he  had  exposed 
himself  to  the  laughter  of  the  ignorant  by  a  contrary  be- 
havior ;  upon  which  he  told  roe,  that  he  would  take 
care  for  the  future  to  keep  his  notions  to  himself,  and  con- 
verse in  the  common  received  sentiments  of  mankind. 

7.  He  at  the  same  time  desired  me   to  give   him   any 
other  rules  of  conversation,  which  1  thought  might  be  for 
his  improvement.     I   told  him  I  would  think- of  it  ;   arnl 
accordingly,  as  I  have  a  particular  affection  for  the  young 
man,  I  gave  him  the  next  morning  the  following  rules  in 
writing,  which  may   perhaps,  have  contributed   to  make 
him  the  agreeable  man  he  now  is, 

8.  The  faculty  of  interchanging  otir^tl  ts  with  one 
another,  or  what  we   express  by    :    t            ;  conversation, 
has  always  been   represented  by  rj              .  liors,   as  one  of 
the  noblest  privileges  of  reason,  and  which  more  particu- 
larly sets  mankind  above  the  brute  part  of  the  creation. 

Though  nothing  so  much  gains  upon  trie  affections  as 
this  extempore  eloquence,  which  we  have  constantly  oe- 
casion  for,  and  are  obliged  to  practice  every  day,  we  very 
rarely  meet  with  any  who  excel  in  it. 

9.  The  conversation  of  most  men   is  disagreeable,  not 
so  much  for  want  of  wit  and  learning,  as  of  good  breeding 
and  discretion. 

It  is  not  in  every  man's  power,  perhaps,  to  have  fine 
parts,  say  witty  thinrp,  or  tell  a  story  agreeably  ;  but  eve- 
ry man  may  be  polite  if  he  pleases,  at  least  to  a  certain 
degree.  Politeness  has  infinitely  more  power  to  make 
i)3  esteemed,  and  our  company  sought  after,  than  the  most 
extraordinary  parts  or  attainments  we  can  be  master  of. 
These  seldom  fail  to  credit  envy,  and  envy  has  always 
some  ill  will  in  it. 

10.  If  you  resolve  to  please,  never  speak  to  gratify  any 
particular  vanity  or  passion  of  your  own,   but  always  with 
a  design  either  to  divert  or  inform  the  company.     A  man 
who  only  aims   at  one   of  these,  is  always  easy  in  his  dis- 
course.    He  is  never  out  of  humor  at  being  interrupted, 
because  he  considers  that  those  who  hear  him  are  the  best 
judges  whether  what  he  was  saying  could  either  divert  or 
inform  them, 

A. modest  person  seldom  fails  to  gain  the  good  will  of 


man  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

those  he  converses  with,  because  nobody  envies  a  man  wh© 
does  not  appear  to  be  pleased  with  himself. 

1"1.  We  shouid  talk  extreme!}7  little  of  ourselves.  In- 
deed what  can  we  say  ?  It  would  be  as  imprudent  to  dis- 
cover faults,  as  ridiculous  to  count  over  our  fancied  vir- 
tues. Our  private  and  domestic  affairs  are  no  less  impro- 
per to  be  introduced  in  conversation.  What  does  it  con- 
cern the  company  how  many  horses  you  keep  in  your 
js  ?  or  whether  your  servant  is  most  knave  or  fool  ? 

12.  A  man  may  equally  affront  the  company  he  is  in, 
V  y  engrossing  all  the   talk,   or  observing  a  contemptuous 
silence. 

Conform  yourself  to  the  taste,  character,  "and  present 
persons  you  converse  with  ;  not  but  a  per- 
son mu  ?  his  talent   in  conversation.     Do  not  force 

no  one  ever  did  it  with  success. 
u   huve  not  a  talent  for  humor,  or  raillery,  or  sto- 
ry-telling, never  attempt  them. 

13.  Contain   yourself  also   within    the  bounds  of 
you  know  ;   and  never  talk  of  things  you  are  ignora 
unless  it  he   with  a    view  to  inform  yourself.     A   ] 
cannot  fail  in  the  observance  of  this  rule,  without  making 
liimself  ridiculous  ;   and  yet  how  often  do  we  see  it  tr  ns- 
gressed  1   Some,  who  on  war  or  politics   could  talk  very 
well,  will  be  perpetually   harranguing  on  works  of  genius 
and  the  belles-lettres  ;  others  who  are  capable  of  reason- 
ing, and  would  make  a  figure  in  grave  discource,  will  yet 
constantly  aim  at  humor  and  pleasantry,   though  with  the 
worst  grace  imaginable.     Hence  it  is,  that  we  sec  a  man 
of  merit  sometimes  appear  like  a  coxcomb,  and  hear  a 
man  of  genius  talk  like  a  fool. 

14.  Before   you  tell  a  story,  it  may  be   generally 
amiss  to  draw  a  short  character,  and  give  the  company  a 
true  idea  of  the   principal  persons  concerned  in  it  ;  the 
beauty  of  most  things  consisting  not  so  much  in  their  be- 
ing said  or  clone,  as  in  their  being  said  or  done  by  such  a 
particular  person,  or  on  such  a  particular  occasion. 

15.  Notwithstanding  all  the  advantages  of  youth,   few 
young  people  please  in  conversation  ;  the  reason  is,  that 
want  "of  experience  makes  them  positive,  and  what  they 
say,  is  rather  with  a  design  to  please  themselves,  than  any 
one  else. 


'and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTAKT.  H& 

It  is  certain  tm-t  age  itself  shall  make  many  things  pass 
iv  el!  enough,  which  would  have  been  laughed  at  in  the 
mouth  of  one  much  younger. 

16.  Nothing,  however,  is  more  insupportable  to  men 
of  sense,  than  an  empty  formal  man  \vho  speaks  in  prov- 
erbs, and  decides  all  controversies,  with  a   short  sentence. 
This  piece  of  stupidity  is  the  more  insufferable,  as  it  puts 
on  the  air  of  wisdom • 

Great  talents  for  conversation  requires  to  be  accompa- 
nied with  great  politeness.  He  who  eclipses  others,  owes 
l htm  great  civilities  ;  and  whatever  a  mistaken  vanity 
may  teli  us,  it  is  better  to  please  in  conversion,  than  to 
shine  in  it. 

17.  A  prudent  man   will   avoid  talking   much  of  any 
particular  science,  for  which  he    is  remarkably  famous. 
There  is  not,  methinks,  an  handsomer  thing  said  of  Mr. 
Gowley  in  his  whole  life,  than,  that  none  but  his  intimate 
friends  ever  discovered  he  was   a  great  poet   by   hir,  dis- 
course.    Besides  the  decency  of  this  rule,  it  is  certainly 
founded  in  good  policy.     A  man  who  talks  of  any  tiling 
he  is.  already  famous  for,  has  little  to  get,  but  a   great 
deal  to  lose. 

18.  I  might  add,  that  he  who  is  sonoetimes  silent  on  a 
Subject  where  every  one  is  satisfied   he  would  speak  well 
will  often  be  thought  no  less  knowing  in  any  other  mat- 
ters, where,  perhaps,  he  is  wholly  ignorant. 

Woinen  are  frightened  at  the  name  of  argument,  and 
are  sooner  convinced  by  an  happy  turn,  or  witty  expres- 
sion, than  by  demonstration. 

19.  Whenever  you  commend,   add  your  reasons  for  so 
doing  ;  it  is  this  which  distinguishes  the  approbation  of 
a  man  of  sense,  from  the  flattery  of  sycophants,  and  ad- 
miration of  fools. 

Raillery  is  no  longer  agveeable  than  while  the  whole 
company  is  pleased  with  it.  I  would  least  of  all  be  under-, 
stood  to  except  the  person  rallied. 

20.  Though  good   humor,   sense,  and    discretion   can 
seldom  fail  to    make  a   man  agreeable,   it   may   be  no  ill 
policy  sometimes  to  prepare  yourself  in  a  particular  man- 
ner   for  conversation,   by    looking    a   little    further  than 
your     neighbors    into     whatever   is  become    a    reigning 
subject.     If  our  armies  are  besieging  a  place  of  import- 

X  2 


and  Lady's  MONITOR. 


ance  abroad,  or  our  House  of  Commons 'debating  a  bill  of 
consequence  at  home,  you  can  hardly  fail  of  being  heard 
v/ith  pleasure,  if  you  have  nicely  informed  yourself  of  the 
strength,  situation,  and  history  of  the  ftrst,  or  of  the  reas- 
ons for  and  against  the  latter. 

21.  It    will   have  the  same  effect  if  when  any  single 
person  begins  to   make   a   noise  in  the  world,  you  can 
learn  some  of  the   smallest  accidents  in  his   life  or  con- 
versation, which  though  they  are  too  fine  for  the   observ- 
ation of  the   vulgar,  give   more   satisfaction  to    men    of 
sense,   (as  they  are  the  best  openings  to  a  real  character) 
tnan  the  recital  of  his  most  glaring  actions.     I  krs.v. 

one  ill  consequence  to  be  feared  from  this  meti- 
ly,  that    coming  full  charged    into  company,   you  should 
resolve   to  unload,  whether  an  handsome  opportunity  of- 
fers itself  or  no. 

22.  The  liberal  arts,  though  they  may  possibly   havii 
less   effect  on  om>  external  mien  and  behavior,  make   so 
deep  an  impression  on  the  mind,  as  is  very  apt  to  bend 
It  wholly  one  way. 

The  mathematician  will  take  little  less  than  demon- 
stration in  the  common  discourse,  and  the  schoolman  13 
as  great  a  friend  to  definitions  and  syllogisms.  The  phy- 
sician and  divine  are  often  heard  to  dictate  in  private 
companies  with  the  same  authority  which  they  exer- 
cise over  their  patients  and  disciples  ;  while  the  lawyer  is 
putting  cases,  and  raising  matter  for  disputation,  out  cf 
every  thing  that  occurs. 

23.  Though   the    asking  of  questions  may  plead    fc? 
itself  the  specious  name   of  modesty,    and  a  desire  of  in- 
formation, it  affords  little  pleasure  to  the  rest  of  the  com- 
pany, who  are  not  troubled  v/ith  the  same  doubts  ;  besides 
which,  he  who  asks  a  queston  would  do    well  to  consider 
that  he  lies  wholly  at  the  mercy  of  another  before  he  re- 
ceives an  answer. 

24.  Nothing  is  more  silly  than  the  pleasure  some  peo- 
ple  take    in   what    they  call  speaking    their   minds.     A 
man  of    this  make  will   say  a  rude  tiling  for  the  mere 
pleasure  of  saying  it,  when  an  opposite  behavior,  full  as 
innocent,  might  have  preserved  his  friend,  or  made  his 
fortune. 

It  is  not  impossible  for  a  man  to  form  to  himself  as  ex- 


and  IZnglish  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  247 

quisite  a  pleasure  in  complying  with  the  humor  and  sen- 
timents of  others,  as  of  bringing-  others  over  to  his  own  ; 
since  'tis  the  certain  sign  of  a  superior  genius,  that  can 
take  ar=d  become  whatever  dress  it  pleases. 

25.  Avoid  disputes  as  much  as  possible,  in  order  to 
appear  easy  and  well  bred,  in  conversation.  You  may 
assure  yourself,  that  it  requires  more  wit,  as  well  as  more 
good  humor,  to  improve  than  to  contradict  the  notions 
of  another  ;  but  if  you  are  at  any  time  obliged  to  enter 
on  an  argument,  give  your  reasons  with  the  utmost  cool- 
ness and  modesty,  two  things  which  scarce  ever  fail  of 
making  an  impression  on  the  hearers.  Besides,  if  you 
are  neither  dogmatical,  nor  show  either  by  your  actions  or 
words>  that  you  are  full  of  yourself,  all  will  the  more 
heartily  rejoice  at  your  victory  ;  nay,  should  you  be  pinch- 
ed in  your  argument,  you  may  make  your  retreat  with  a 
very  good  grace  :  you  were  never  positive,  and  are  now 
glad  to  be  better  informed. 

26.  This  hath  made  seme  approve  the  Socratical  way 
of  reasoning,  where,  while  you  scarce  affirm  any  thing, 
you  can  hardly  be  caught  in  an  absurdity  ;  and  though 
possibly  you  are  endeavoring  to  bring  over  another  to 
your  opinion,  which  is  firmly  fixed,  you  seem  only  to  de- 
sire information  from  him. 

27.  In  order  to  keep  that  temper,  which  is  so  difficult, 
:.:•(!  yet  so  necessary  to  preserve,  you  may  please  to  con- 

\  that  nothing  can  be  more  unjust  or  ridiculous,  than 
to  h*  angry  with  another  because  he  is  not  of  your 
opinion.  The  interests,  education,  and  means  by  which 
rheti  attain  their  knowledge,  are  so  very  different,  that 
•i  is  impossible  they  should  all  think  alike  ;  and  he  has 
at  least  as  much  reason  to  be  angry  with  you,  as  you  with 
him. 

28.  Sometimes  to  keep  yourself  cool,  it  may  be  of  ser- 
vice to  ask  yourself  fairly,  what  might  have  been   your 
opinion,  had  you  all  the  biasses  of  education   and  interest 
your  adversary  may  possibly   have?   But  if  you  contend 
for  the  honor  of  victory  alone,  you  may  lay  clown  this  as  an 
infallible  maxim,   That  you    cannot   make  a  more   false 
step,   or  give  your   antagonists  a  greater  advantage   over 
you,  than  by  falling  into  a  passion. 

29.  When  an  argument  is  over,  how  many   weighty 


-248      The  Young  Gentleman  and  Ladifs 

reasons  does  a  man  recollect,  which  his  heat  and  violence 
made  him  utterly  forget  ? 

It  is  yet  more  absurd  to  be  angry  with  a  raan>  because 
he  does  not  apprehend  the  force  of  your  reasons,  or  give 
weak  ones  of  his  own*  If  you  argue  for  reputation,  this 
makes  your  victory  the  easier ;  he  is  certainly  in  all  res- 
pects an  object  of  your  pity,  rather  than  anger  ;  and  if  he 
cannot  comprehend  what  you  do,  you  ought  to  thank  na- 
ture for  her  favors,  who  has  given  you  so  much  the  clearer 
understanding. 

SO.  You  may  please  to  add  this  consideration,  That 
among  your  equals  no  one  values  your  anger,,  which  only 
preys  upon  its  master  j.  and  perhaps  you  may  find  it  not 
very  consistent  either  with  prudence  or  your  ease,  to  pun- 
ish yourself  whenever  you  meet  with  a  fool  or  a  knave. 

31.  Lastly,   if  you  propose  to  yourself  the  true  end  of 
argument,  which  is  information,  it  may  be  a  seasonable 
check  to  your  passion  ;  for  if  you  search  purely  after  truth, 
it  will  be  almost  indifferent  to  you  where  you   find  it,     I 
cannot  in  this  place  omit  an  observation   which  I   hav^e 
often   made,  namely,  that  nothing  procures  a  man  more 
esteem  and  less  envy  from  the  whole  company,  than  if  he 
chooses  the  part  of  moderator,  without  engaging  directly 
on  either  side  in  a  dispute. 

32.  This,  gives  him  the  character  of  impartial,  furnisbes- 
him  an  opportunity  of  sifting  things  to  the  bottom,  shov/- 
ing  his  judgment,  and   of  sometimes  making  handsome 
compliments  to  each  of  the  contending  parties. 

When  you  have  gained  a  victory,  do  not  push  it  too 
far  ;  it  is  sufficient  to  let  the  company  and  your  adversary 
see  it  is  in  your  power,  but  that  you  are  too  generous  tc 
make  use  of  it. 

33.  I  shall  only  add,  that  besides  what!  have  here  said, 
there  is  something  which   can  never  be  learnt  but  in  the 
company  of  the  polite.     The  virtues  of  men  are  catching 
as  well  as  their  vices,  and  your  own  observations  added  to 
these  will  soon  discover  what  it  is  that  commands  atten- 
tion in  one  man,  and  makes  you  tired  and  displeased  v/Itfc 
the  discourse  of  another.. 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  249 

Further  Remarks  taken  from  Lord  Chesterfield's  Letters  ta 

his  Son. 

3'1-  TLTTAVING  now  given  you  full  and  sufficient  in- 
JLJL  structions  for  making  you  well  received  in  the 
best  of  companies  ;  nothing  remains  but  that  I  lay  before 
you  some  few  rules  for  your  conduct  in  such  company. 
Many  things  on  this  subject  I  have  memoned  before  ; 
but  some  few  matters  remain  to  be  mentioned  now. 

ik  then  frequently,  but  not  long  together,  lest  you 
tire  the  persons  you  are  speaking  to  ;  for  few  persons  talk 
so  well  upon  a  subject,  as  to  keep  up  the  attention  of  their 
hearers  for  any  length  of  time. 

35.  Avo:  stories  in  company,  unless  they  are 

very  short ' ;  -1  very  applicable  to  the  subject  you  are 

upon  ;  in  this  case  relate  them  in  as  fcw  words  as  possible, 
without  the  least  digression,  and  with  some  apology  : 
.lit  you  hate  the  telling  of  stones,  but  the  short- 
of  it  induced  you.  And  if  your  story  Ins  any  wit 
in  it,  be  particularly  careful  not  to  laugh  at  it  yourself. 
Nothing  is  more  tiresome  and  disagreeable  than  a  long 
U'dious  narrative  :  it  betrays  a  gossiping  disposition,  and 
great  want  of  imagination  ;  and  nothing  is  more  ridicu- 
lous than  to  express  an  approbation  of  your  awn  story  by 
a  laugh. 

35.  In  relating;  any  thing,  keep  clear  of  repetitions, 
cr  very  hackneyed  expressions,  such  as  say 6  he,  or  says 
*/•?,  Some  pt  use  these  so  often,  as  to  take  oft* 

the  hearers*  attention  from  the  stoiy  ;  as  in  an  organ  out 
of  tune,  cue  pipe  shall  perhaps  sound  the  whole  time  we 
arc  p  hying)  and  confuse  the  piece  so  as  net  to  be  under- 
Sto: 

o7.   Digressions,  likewise,    :  be   guarded  against. 

A  story  is  always  more  r  \-  i-  ••out  them.     Of  this 

kind  art>  u  the g'i iitiernan  la 

Sir  Tho?nas -,  who  live-  ? --street  ; —  Dl 

—his  brother  fa. 
Newmarket  m( 

."     Or,  "He  was  en   ic?>"ight  fall 

•:"?i  fang  hair  ;  don't  ^-ou  recol- 

Ir.ct  /;:;;: .?''«. -All  this  is  unnecessary  j  is  very  tiresome  and 


25$      The  Young  Gentleman  and  Ladtfx  MONITOR, 

provoking,  and  would  be  an  excuse  for  a  man's  behavior^ 
if  he  was  to  leave  us  in  the  midst  of  our  narrative. 

38.  Some  people   have   a  trick  of  holding  the  persons 
they  are  speaking  to  by  the  button,  or  the  hand,  in  crdtr  to 
be  heard  out ;  conscious,  I  suppose,  that  their  tale  is  tire- 
some.    Pray,  never  do  this  ;  if  the  person  you  speak  to  is 
not  as  willing  to  hear   your    story,  as  you  are  to  tell  it, 
you  had  much  better  break  off  in  the  rnk^le  :  for  if  you 
tire  them  once  they  will  be  afraid  to  listen  to  you  a  second 
time. 

39.  Others  have  a  way  of  punching  the  person  they  ?re 
talking  to,  in  the  side,  and  at  the  end  of  every  sentence, 
asking  him  some  questions,  as  the  following  :  "  Wasn't  I 
right    in    that  ?" — u  You  know,  I  told    you  so  ? — What's 
your  opinion  ?"  and  the  like  ;  or  perhaps,  they   will  be 
thrusting  him,  or  jogging  him  with  their  elbow.  For  mer- 
cy's sake,  never  give  way  to  this  :  it  will  make  your  com- 
pany dreaded. 

40.  Long  talkers  are  frequently  apt  to  single  out  some 
unfortunate   man  present ;   generally  the  most  silent  one 
of  the  company,   or  probably   him   who   sits  next  them. 
To  this   man^  in   a  kind   of  half  whisper,   will   they   run 
on  for  half  an  hour  together.     Nothing  can  be  more   iii- 
bred.   But  if  one  of  these  unmerciful  talkers  should  attack 
you,  if  you  wish   to  oblige  him,  I  would  recommend  the 
hearing   with   patience  :   seem  to  do   so  at  least,   for  you 
could  not  hurt  him  more  than  to  leave  him  in  the  middle 
of  his  story,  or  discover  any  impatience  in  the  course  of  it. 

41.  Incessant  talkers  are  very  disagreeable  companions. 
Nothing  can  be  more  rude  than  to  engross  the  conversation 
to  yourself,  or  to  take  the  words,  as  it  were,  out  of  anoth- 
er man's  mouth.     Every   man  in  company  has  an  equal 
claim  to  bear  bis  part  in  conversation,  and  to  deprive  him 
of  it,    is  not  only   unjust,  but  a  tacit  declaration  that  he 
cannot  speak  so   well  upon  the  subject  as  yourself :  you 
will  therefore  take  it  up.     And,  what  can  he  more  rude  ? 
I  would  as  soon  forgive  a  man  that  should  stop  my  mouth 
when  I  was  gaping,  as  take  my  words  from  roe  while  I  was 
speaking  them.     Now,  if  this  be  unpardonable,  it  cannot 
be  less  so, 

42.  To  help  out  or  forestall  the  slow  speaker,  as  if  you 
alone  were  rich  in  expressions  and  he  were  poor.     You 


(fad  Efiglish  Teacher's  ASSISTANT,,  251 

inay  take  it  for  granted  every  one  is  vain  enough  to  think 
he  can  talk  well,  though  he  may  modestly  deny  it ;  help- 
ing a  person  out  therefore  in  his  expressions,  is  a  correc- 
tion that  will  stamp  the  corrector  with  impudence  and  ill 
manners. 

43.  Those  who  contradict  others  upon  all  occasions, 
and  make  every  assertion  u  matter  of  dispute,  betray  by 
this    behavior  an  unacquaintance    with   good    breeding. 
He  therefore  who  wishes  to  appear  amiable,   with  those 
he  converses  with,  will'be  cautious  of  such  expressions  as 
these,  "  That  can't  be  true,  sir."  "  The  affair  is  as  I 
say."     "  That  must  be  false,  sir."     "  If  what  you  say  is 
true,"  5cc.  You  may  as  well  tell  a  man  he  lies  at  once, 
as  thus  indirectly  impeach  his  veracity.     It  is  equally  as 
rude  to  be  proving  every  trifling  assertion  with  a  bet  or  a 
wager.     "  I'll  bet  you  fifty  of  it,  and   so  on."     Make  it 
then  a  constant  rule,  in  matters  of  no  great  importance, 
complaisantly   to  submit  your  opinion  to  that  of  others  ; 
-for  a  victory  of  this  kind  often  costs  a  man  the  loss  of  a 
friend. 

44.  Giving  advice  unasked  is  another  piece  of  rudeness; 
it  is,    in   effect,  declaring  ourselves  wiser   than  those  to 
whom  we  give  it ;  reproaching  them  with  ignorance  and 
inexperience.     It  is  a  freedom  that  ought  not  to  be  taken 
with  any   common  acquaintance,  and  yet  there  are  those 
who   will   be    offended,    if  their   advice  is   not   taken. — 
"  Such-a-one,"   say    they,    "  is    above    being    advised." 
a  He  scorns  to  listen  to  my  advice  ;"  as  if  it  were   not  a 
mark  of  greater  arogance   to  expect  every  one  to  sub- 
mit to  their  opinion  than  for  a  man  sometimes  to  follow 
his  own. 

45.  There  is  nothing  so  unpardonably  rude,  as  a  seem- 
ing inattention    to  the   person  who    is  speaking  to  you  ; 
though  you  may   meet  with  it  in  others,  by  all   means, 
avoid   it  yourself.     Some   ill  bred  people,    while    others 
are  speaking  to  them,  will,   instead  of  looking  at  or  at- 
tending to  them,  perhaps   fix  their  eyes  on  the   deling, 
or   some  picture  in  tfc  room,  look   out  of  the  window, 
play   with  a  dog,    their  watch  chain,  or   their  cane,  or 
probably   pick   their   nails   or  their  noses.     Nothing  be- 
trays a  more  trifling  mind  than  this  ;  nor  can  any  thing 
be  a   greater  affront  to  the  person  speaking*  ;  it  being  a 


252      The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

tacit  declaration,  that  what  he  is  saying  is  not  worth  your 
attention.  Consider  with  yourself  how  you  would  like 
such  treatment,  and,  I  am  persuaded,  you  will  never  show 
it  to  others. 

46.  Surliness  or  moroseness  is  incompatible  also  with 
politeness.     Such  as,  should  any  one  say  "  he  was  desir- 
ed to  present  Mr.  Such-a-ones's  respects  to  you,"  to  reply, 
u  What   the   devil   have  I  to   do  with  his  respects  ?" — 
u  My  Lord  inquired  after  you  lately,  and  asked  how  you 

.."  to  answer,  "  if  he  wishes  to  know,  let  him  come 
£nd  feel  my  pulse,"  and  the  like.  A  good  deal  of  this 
often  is  affected  ;  but  whether  affected  or  natural,  it  is 
always  offensive.  A  man  of  this  stamp  will  occasion- 
ally be  laughed  at  as  an  oddity  ;  but  in  the  end  will  be 
despised, 

47.  I  should  suppose   it  unnecessary  to  advise  you  to 
adapt  your  conversation  to  the  company  you  are  in.     You 
would  not  surely  start  the  same  subject,  and  discourse  of 
it  in  the  same  manner,  with  the  old  and  with  the  young, 
with  an  officer,  a  clergyman,  a  philosopher,  and  a  woman  .? 
:io  ;  your  geod   sense  will   undoubtedly  teach  you  to  be 
serious  with  the   serious,   gay  with  the  gay,  and  to  trifle 
\\Uh  the  trifiers. 

48.  There  tire  certain  expressions  which  are  excee 

ly  rude,  and  yet  there  are  people  of  liberal  education  that 
sometimes  use  them  ;  as  "  you  don't  understand  ins 
sir."  "  It  is  not  so."  "  You  mistake."  "  You  know  no- 
thing of  the  matter,"  <kc;  Is  it  not  better  to  say  ?  "  I 
believe  I  do  not  express  myself  so>  as  to  be  understood." 
"  Let  us  consider  it  again,  whether  we  take  it  right 
or  not."  It  is  much  more  polite  and  amiable  to  make 
some  excuse  for  another,  even  in  cases  where  he  might 
justly  be  blamed,  and  to  represent  the  mistake  as  com- 
mon to  both,  rather  than  charge  him  with  insensibility  or 
incomprehension.. 

49.  If  any  one    should   have  promised  you  any  thing 
and  not  have   fulfilled  that  promise,  it  would  be  very  un- 
polite  to   tell  him,  he  has  forfeited  his  word  ;  or  if  the 
same    person   should   have  disappointed  you,  upon    any 
occasion,  would  it  not  be  better  to  say,  "you  were  prob- 
ably  so    much   engaged,    that    you    forgot   my    affair/* 
or,    "perhaps    it    slipped   your  memory  j."  rather    t) 


and  English  Teaches  ASSISTANT.  253 

"  you  thought  no  more  about  it,"  or  "  you  pay  very 
"  little  regard  to  your  word."  For  expressions  of  this 
kind  leave  a  sting  behind  them.  They  ars  a  kind  of 
provocation  and  affront,  and  very  often  bring  on  lasting 
quarrels. 

50.  Be  careful  not  to  appear  dark  and  mysterious,  lest 
you  should  be  thought  suspicious  ;  than  which  there  can- 
not be  a  more  unamiable  character.  If  you  appear  myste- 
rious   and  reserved,  others  will  be  truly   so    with  you  ; 
and  in  this  case,  there  is  an  end  to  improvement,  for  you 
will  gather  no  information.     Be  reserved,  but  never  seem 
so. 

51.  There  is  a  fault  extremely  common    with  some 
people,  which   I   would    have   you  avoid.     When    their 
opinion  is  asked  upon  any  subject,  they  will  give  it  with 
so  apparent  a  diffidence  and    timidity,  that  one  cannot, 
without  the  utmost  pain,    listen   to  them  ;  especially  if 
they  are  known  to  be  men  of  universal  knowledge.  "  Your 
"  Lordship  will  pardon  me,"  says  one  of  this  stamp,   "  if 
"  t   should  not  be  able  to  speak  to  the  case  in  hand,  so 
"  well  as  it  might  be  wished." — "  I'll   venture  to   speak 
"  of  this  matter,  to  the  best  of  my  poor  abilities  and  dul- 
i(  ness  of  apprehension.— I  fear  I  shall  expose  myself,  but 
"  in  obedience  to  your  Lordship's  commands" — and  while 
they  are  making  these  apologies,  they  interrupt  the  busi- 
ness and  tire  the  company. 

52.  Always  look  people  in  the  face  when  you  speak  to 
them,  otherwise  you  will  be   thought  conscious   of  some 
guilt  ;  besides,  you  lose  the  opportunity  of  reading  their 
countenances  ;  from  which  you  will  much  better  learn 
the  impression    your  discourse  makes  upon  them,  than 
you  can  possibly  do  from  their  words  :   for  words  are  at 
the  will  of  every  one,   but  the  countenance  is  frequently 
involuntary. 

53.  If,  in   speaking  to  a  person,  you   are  not  heard, 
and  should  be  desired  to  repeat  what  you  said,   do  not 
raise   your  voice  in  the  repetition,   lest  you   should  be 
thought  angry,  on  being  obliged  to  repeat  what  you   had 
said  before  ;  it  was  probably  owing  to   the    hearer's  in- 
attention. 

54.  One  word  only,  as  to  swearing.     Those  who  ad- 
dict therrvselves  to  it,   and  interlard  thek  discourse  with 

Y 


254      The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady^  MONITOR, 
oaths,  can  never  be   considered  as  gentlemen  ;  they  are 
generally  people  of  low  education,  and  are  unwelcome  in 
'nat  is  called  good  company.     It  is  a  vice  that  has  no 
smptation i  to  plead,  but  is,  in  every  respect,  as  vulgar  as 
it  is  wicked. 

55.  Never  accustom  yourself  to  scandal,  nor  listen  to 

it ;  for  though  it  may  gratify  the  malevolence  of  some 

people,  rme   times  out  of  ten  it  is  attended  with   great 

Disadvantages.     The  very  person  you  tell  it  to  will,  on 

lion,  entertain   a  mean  opinion   of  you,  and  it  will 

^ten  bring  you  into  a  very  disagreeable  situation.     And 

;  would  be  no  evil  speakers,  if  there  were  no  evil 

learers  ;  it  is  in  scandal  as  in  robbery  ;  the  receiver  is  as 

id  as  the  thief.     Besides,  it  will  lead  people  to  shun  your 

company,  supposing  that  you  will  speak  ill  of  them  to  the 

next  acquaintance  you  meet. 

56.  Carefully  avoid  talking  either  of  your  own  or  other 
people's  domestic  concerns.  By  doing  the  one,  you  will 
be  thought  vain  ;  by  entering  into  the  other,  you  will  be 
considered  as  officious.  Talking  of  yourself  is  an  im- 
pertinence to  the  company  ;  your  affairs  are  nothing  to 
them;  besides,  they  cannot  be  kept  too  secret.  And, 
as  to  the  affairs  of  others,  what  are  they  to  you  1  In 
talking  of  matters  that  no  way  concern  you,  you  are 
liable  so  commit  blunders,  and  should  you  touch  any 
one  in  a  sore  part,  you  may  possibly  lose  his  esteem.  Let 
your  conversation  then  in  mixed  companies  always  be 
general. 

57.  Jokes   ban-mots  or  the   little  pleasantries  of  one 
company,  will  not  often  bear  to  be  told  in  another  ;  they 
are  frequently  loeal,  and  take  their  rise   from  certain 
circumstances  ;  a  second  company  may  not  be  acquainted 
with  these  circumstances,  and  of  course  your  story  may 
not  be  understood,  or  want  explaining  ;  and,  if  after  you 
have  prefaced  it  with,  "I  will  tell  you  a  good  thing," 
the  sting  should  not  be  immediately  perceived,  you  will 
appear  exceedingly  ridiculous,  and  wish  you  had  not  told  it. 
Never  then  repeat  in  one  place  what  you  hear  in  another. 

58.  In  most  debates  take  up  the  favorable  side  of  the 
question  ;  however,  let  me  caution   you  against   being 
clamorous,  that  is,  never  maintain  an  argument  with  heat, 
though  you  know  yourself  .right  ;  but  offer  your  senti- 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  255 

ments  modestly  and  coolly,  and  if  this  does  not  prevail, 
give  it  up,  and  try  to  change  the  subject  by  saying  some- 
thing to  this  effect ;  "  I  find  we  shall  hardly  convince 
"  one  another,  neither  is  there  any  necessity  to  attempt  it  j 
"  so  let  us  talk  of  something  else." 

59.  Not  that  I  would  have  you  give  up  your  opinion 
always  ;  no,  assert  your  own  sentiments,  and  oppose  those 
of  others  when  wrong,  but  let  your  manner  and  voice  be 
gentle  and  engaging,  and  yet  no  ways  affected.     If  you 
contradict,  do  it  with,  /  may  be   wrong,  but — /  won't  be 
positive,  but  I  really  think — /  should  rather  su/ifiost — If  I 
may  be  permitted  to  my — and  close  your  dispute  with  good 
humor,  to  show  you  are  neither  displeased  yourself,  nor 
mean  to  displease  the  person  you  dispute  \vith. 

60.  Acquaint  yourself  with  the  character  and  situations 
of  the  company  you  go  into,  before   you  give  a  loose  to 
your  tongue  ;  for  should  you  enlarge  on  some  virtue,  which 
any  one  present  may   notoriously  want  ;  or   should  you 
condemn  some  vice,  which   any  of  the  company  may  be 
particularly  addicted  to,  they  will  be  apt  to  think  your 
reflections  pointed  and  personal,  and  you  will  be  sure  to 
give  offence.     This  consideration  will  naturally  lead  you, 
not  to  suppose  things  said  in  general,  to  be  levelled  at 
you. 

6 1 .  Low  bred  people,  when  they  happen  occasionally 
to  be  in  good   company,  imagine  themselves  to  be  the 
subject  of  every  separate  conversation.     If  any  part  of 
the  company  whispers,  it  is  about  them  ;  if  they  laugh, 
it  is  at  them  ;  and  if  any  thing  is  said  which  they  do  not 
comprehend,  they  immediately  suppose  it  is  meant  of  them. 
This  mistake  is  admirably  ridiculed  in  one  of  our  celebrat- 
ed comedies,  "  lam  sure,  says  Scrub,  they  were  talkmg  of 
me,  for  they  laughed  consumedly" 

62.  Now,  a  well  bred  person  never  thinks  himself  clis- 
•  esteemed  by  the  company,  or  laughed  at,  unless  their  re- 
flections are  so  gross,  that  he  cannot  be  supposed  to  mis- 
take them,   and  his   honor  obliges  him  to  resent  it  in  a 
proper  manner ;  however  be  assured,  gentlemen  never 
laugh  at  or  ridicule  one  another,  unless  they  are  in  joke, 
or  on  a  footing  of  the  greatest  intimacy.     If  such  a  thing 
should  happen  once  in  an  age,  from  some  pert  coxcomb, 
or  some  flippant  woman,  it  is  better  not  to  seem  to  know 
it,  than  make  the  least  reply. 


i56      Ths  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady* &  MONITOR, 

63.  It  is  a  piece  of  politeness  not  to  interrupt  a  person 
in  a  story,   whether  you    have    heard  it  before  or  not. 
Nay,  if  a  well  bred  man  is  asked  whether  he  has  heard 
it,   he  will  answer  no,  and  let  the  person  go  on,  though 
be  knows  it  already.     Some   are  fond  of  felling  a  story, 
because  they  think  they  tell  it  well,  others  pride  them- 
selves in  being  the  first  teller  of  it,  and  others  are  pleased 
at  being  thought  entrusted  with  it.     Now,  all  these  per- 
sons you  would   disappoint  by  answering  yes,    and,  -as  I 
have  told  you  before,  as  the  greatest  proof  of  politeness  is 
to   rrake  every  body  happy  about  you,  I  would  never  de- 
prive ^  person  of  any  secret  satisfaction  of  this  sort,  when 
I  could  f  ratify  by  a  minute's  attention. 

64.  Be  not  ashamed  of  asking  questions,  if  such  ques- 
tions lead  to  information  ;  always  accompany  them  with- 
some   excuse,  and    you  never  will  be  reckoned  imperti- 
nent.    But,  abrupt  questions,  without   some   apology,  by 
all  means  avoid,  as  they  imply  design.     There   is*a  way 
c-' fishing  for  facts,  which  if  done  judiciously,  will  answer 
every  purpose,  such  as  taking  things  you  wish  to. know  for 
granted  ;  this  will  perhaps  lead  some  officious  person  to 
set  you  right.   So  a:<ain,  by  saying,  you  have  heard  so  and 
so-  and  sometimes  seeming  to  know  more  than  you  do,  you 
will   often  p-et    at  information,   which  you   would  lose  by 
direct  questions,   as  these  would  put    people   upon  their 
guard,  and  frequently  defeat  the  very  end  you  aim  at. 

65?  Make  it  a  rule  never  to  reflect  on  any  body  of 
people,  for  by  this  means  you  will  create  a  number  of 
enemies.  There  are  good  and  bad  of  all  profc: 
lav/yers,  soldiers,  parsons  or  citizens.  They  are  all  men, 
.t  to  the  same  passions,  differing  only  in  their  man- 
rtr  accorc'ing  to  the  WL.V  they  have  been  bred  up  in. 
For  this  reason,  it  is  unjust  as  well  as  indiscreet  to  attack 
them  as  a  corps  collectively.  Many  a  young  man  has 
thought  himself  extremely  clever  in  abusing  the  clergy. 
What  are  the  clergy  more  than  other  men  ?  Can  you 
suppose  a  black  gcwn  c^n  make  any  alteration  in  his  na* 
ture  ?  Fie,  fie,  think  seriously,  and  I  am  convinced  yoU . 
will  never  do  it. 

66.  But  above    all,    let   no   example,   ro  fashion, 
witticism,  no  foolish  desire  of  arising  above  what  knaves 
prejudices,  tempt  you  to  excuse,  extenuate  cr  Hdi- 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT,  257 

cule  the  least  breach  of  morality,  but  upon  every  occasion 
show  the  greatest  abhorrence  of  such  proceedings,  and 
hold  virtue  ami  religion  in  the  highest  veneration. 

It  is  a  great  piece  of  ill  manners  to  interrupt  any  one 
while  speaking,  by  speaking  yourself  or  calling  off  the  at- 
tention of  the  company  to  any  foreign  matter.  But  this 
every  child  knows. 

67.  The  last  thing  I  shall  mention  is  that  of  conceal- 
ing your  learning-,  except  on  particular  occasions.  Re- 
serve this  for  learned  men,  and  let  them  rather  extort  it 
from  you,  than  you  be  too  •willing  to  display  it.  Hence 
you  will  be  thought  modest,  and  to  have  more  knowledge 
than  you  really  have.  Never  seem  -wise  or  more  learned 
than  the  company  you  are  in.  He  who  affects  to  show 
3iis  learning  will  be  frequently  questioned  ;  and  if  found 
superficial,  will  be  sneered  at ;  if  otherwise,  he  wHl  be 
deemed  a  pedant.  Real  merit  will  always  show  itself, 
and  nothing  can  lessen  it  in  the  opinion  of  the  world,  but 
a  man's  exhibiting  it  himself. 

For  God's  sake,  revolve  all  these  things  seriously  in 
your  mind,  before  you  go  abroad  into  life.  Recollect  the. 
observations  you  have  yourself  occasionally  made  upon 
men  and  things,  compare  them  with  my  instruction,  and 
act  wisely  and  consequentially,  as  they  shall  teach  you. 


Entrance  upon  the  World* 

1.  /^URINO  was  a  young  man  brought  up  to  a  repu- 
\^A  table  trade  ;  the  term  of  his  apprenticeship  was 
almost  expired,  and  he  was  contriving  how  he  might  ven- 
ture into  the  world  with  safety,  and  pursue  business  with 
innocence  and  success. 

2.  Among  his  near  kindred,  Serenus  was  one,  a  gen- 
tleman of  considerable  character  in  the  sacred  profession  ; 
and  after  he  had  consulted  with  his  father,  who  was  a  mer- 
chant of  great  esteem  and  experience,  he  also  thought  fit 
to  seek  a  word  of  advice  from  the  divine. 

3.  Serenus  had  such  a  respect  for  his  young:  kinsman, 
that  he  set  his  thought  at  work  on  this  subject,  and  with 
some  tender  expressions;  which  melted  the  youth  into 

Y  2 


258       The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

tears  he  put  into  his  hand  a  paper  of  his  best  counsels* 
Curino  entered  upon  business,  pursued  his  employment 
with  uncommon  advantage,  and  under  the  blessing  of 
Heaven,  advanced  himself  to  a  considerable  estate. 

4,  He  lived  with  honor  in  the  world,  and  gave  a  lustre 
to  the  religion  which  he  professed  ;   and  after  a  long  life 
of  piety  and  usefulness,  he  died  with  a  sacred  composure 
of  soul,  under  the  influence  of  the  Christian  hope. 

5.  Some  of  his  neighbors  wondered  at  his  felicity  in 
this  world,  joined  with  so  much  innoceace,  and  such  se- 
vere virtue  ;  but  after  his  death  this  paper  was  found  in 
his  closet,  which  was  drawn  up   by  his  kinsman  in   holy 
orders,  and  was  supposed  to  have  a  large  share  in  procur- 
ing his  happiness. 

Advice  to  a  ijoung  Man. 

I.  T  PRESUME  you  desire  to  be  happy  here  and  here- 
JL  after ;  you  know  there  are  a  thousand  difficulties 
•which  attend  this  pursuit ;  some  of  them  perhaps  yon 
foresee,  but  there  are  multitudes  vihich  you  could  never 
think  of.  Never  trust  therefore  to  your  own  understand- 
ing in  the  things  of  this  world,  where  you  can  have  the 
advice  of  a  wise  and  faithful  friend  ;  nor  dare  venture  tho- 
more  important  concerns  of  your  soul,  and  your  eternal 
interests  in  the  world  to  come,  upon  the  mere  light  of 
nature,  and  the  dictates  of  your  own  reason  ;  since  the 
word  of  God,  and  the  advice  of  Heaven,  lies  in  your 
hands.  Vain  and  thoughtless  indeed  are  those  children 
of  pride,  who  choose  to  turn  heathens  in  America  ;  who- 
live  upon  the  mere  religion  of  nature  and  their  own  stock, 
when  they  have  been  trained  up  among  all  the  superior 
advantages  of  Christianity,  and  the  blessings  of  divine  rev-, 
elation  and  grace  ! 

II.  Whatsoever  your   circumstances  may   be  in  this 
world,  still  value  your  bible  as  your  best  treasure  ;  and 
whatsoever  be  your  employment  here,  still  look  upon  reli- 
gion as  your  best  business.     Your  bible  contains  eternal 
life  in  it,  and  all  the  riches  of  the  upper  world  ;  and  reli- 
gion is  the  only  way  to  become  the  possessor  of  them. 

III.  To  direct  your  carriage  towards  God,  converse 
particularly  with  the  bock  of  psalms  :  David  was  a  mat> 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  259 

of  sincere  and  eminent  devotion.  To  behave  aright  among 
men,  acquaint  yourself  with  the  whole  book  of  Proverbs  : 
Solomon  was  a  man  of  large  experience  and  wisdom.  And 
to  perfect  your  directions  in  both  these,  read  the  Gospels 
and  Epistles  ;  you  will  find  the  best  of  rules  and  the  best 
of  examples  there,  and  those  more  immediately  sutited  to 
the  Christian  life. 

IV.  As  a  man,  maintain  strict  temperance  and  sobrie- 
ty, by  a  wise  government  of  your  appetites  and  passions  ; 
as  a  neighbor,  influence  and  engage  all  around  you  to  be 
your  friends,  by  a  temper  and  carriage  made  up  of  pru- 
dence and  goodness  ;  and  let  the  poor  have   a  certain 
share  in  all  your  yearly  profits  ;  as  a  trader,  keep  that 
golden  sentence  of  our  Saviour's  ever  before  you.  "  What- 
soever you  would  that  men  should  do  unto  you,  do  you 
also  unto  them." 

V.  While  you  make  the  precepts  of  scripture  the  con- 
stant rule  of  your  duty,  you  may  with  courage  rest  upon 
the  promises  of  scripture  as  the  springs  of  your  encour- 
agement ;   all  divine  assistances  and  divine  recompences 
are  contained  in  them.     The  spirit  of  light  and  grace  is 
promised  to  assist  them  that  ask  it.    Heaven  and  glory  are 
promised  to  reward  the  faithful  and  theobeclient. 

VI.  In  every  affair  of  life,  begin  with  God  ;  consult 
him  in  every  thing  that  concerns  you  ;  view  him   at  the 
author  of  all  your  blessings,  and  all  your  hopes,  as  your 
best  friend,  and  your  eternal  portion.     Meditate  on  him 
in  this  view,  with  a  continual  renewal  of  your  trust  in  him, 
and  a  daily  surrender  of  yourself  to  him,  till  you  feel  that 
you  love  him  most  entirely,  that  you  serve  him  with  sin- 
cere delight,  and  that  you  cannot  live  a  day  without  God 
in  the  world. 

VII.  You  know  yourself  to  be  a  man,  an  indigent  crea- 
ture and  a  sinner,  and  you  profess  to  be  a  Christian,  a  dis- 
ciple of  the  blessed  Jesus,  but  never  think  you  know  Christ 
or  yourself  as  you  ofcght  till  you  find  a  daily  heed  of  him 
for  righteousness  and  strength,  for  pardon  and  sanctifica- 
tion  ;  and  let  him  be  your  constant  introducer  to  the  great 
God,  though  he  sits  upon  a  throne  of  grace.     Remember 
his  own  words,  John  xiv.  6.  "  No  man  cometh  to  the 
Father  but  by  xne." 


260      The  Young  Gentleman  and  Ladifs  MONITOR, 

VIII.  Make  prayer  a  pleasure  and  not  a  task,  and  then 
you  will  not  forget  nor  omit  it.     If  ever  you  have  lived 
in  a  praying  family,  never  let  it  be  your  fault  if  you  do 
not  live  in  one  always.     Believe  that  day,  that  hour,  or 
those  minutes  to  be  wasted  and  lost,  which  any  worldly 
pretences  would   tempt   you  to  save   out  of  the  public 
worship  of  the  church,  the  certain  and  constant  duties  of 
the  closet,  or  any  necessary  services  for  God   and  godli- 
ness ;  beware  lest  a  blast  attend  it,  and  not  a  blessing.  If 
God  had  not  reserved  one  day  in  seven  to  himself,  I  fear 
religion  would  have  been  lost  out  of  the  world  ;  and  every 
day  of  the  v/eek  is  exposed  to  a  curse  which  lias  no  morn- 
ing religion. 

IX.  See  that  you  watch   and  labor,  as  well  as  pray  ; 
diligence  ^and  dependance  must  be  united  in  the  practice 
of  every  Christian.    It  is  the  same  wise  man  acquaints  us, 
that  the  hand  of  the  diligent,  and  the  bkssing  of  the  Lord, 
join  together  to  make  us  rich,  Prov.  x.  4.  22*    Rich  i» 
the  treasures  of  Body  or  mind,  of  time  or  etcrnitv. 

It  is  your  duty  indeed,  under  a  sense  of  your  own  weak- 
ness to  ^pray  daily  against  sin  ;  but  if  you  would  effectu- 
ally avoid  it,  you  must  also  avoid  temptation,  and  every 
dangerous  opportunity.  Set  a  double  guard  wheresoever 
you  feel  or  suspect  an  enemy  at  hand.  The  world  with- 
out and  the  heart  within,  have  so  much  flattery  and  deceit 
in  them,  that  we  must  keep  a  sharp  eye  upon  both,  lest 
we  are  trapt  into  mischief  between  them. 

X.  Honor,  profit,  and  pleasure,  have  been  sometimes 
called  the  world's  Trinity,  they  are  its  three  chief  idols  j 
each  of  them  is  sufficient  to  draw  a  soul  off  from   God, 
and    ruin  it  forever.     Beware  of  them  therefore  and  of 
all  their  subtle  insinuations,  if  you  would  be  innocent  or 
happy. 

Remember  that  the  honor  which  comes  from  God, 
the  approbation  of  Heaven,  and  of  your  own  conscience, 
are  infinitely  more  valuable  than  all  the  esteem  or  ap- 
plause of  men.  Dare  not  venture  one  step  out  of  the 
road  of  Heaven,  for  fear  of  being  laughed  at  for  walk- 
ing strictly  in  it  :  it  is  a  poor  religion  that  cannot  stand 
against  a  jest. 

Sell  not  your  hopes  of  heavenly  treasures,  nor  any 
thing  that  belongs  to  your  eternal  interest,  for  any  of 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  261 

the  advantages  of  the  present  life  :  "  What  shall  it  profit 
"  a  man  to  gain  the  whole  world  and  lose  his  own  soul." 

Remember  also  the  words  of  the  wise  man,  "  He  that 
"  loveth  pleasure  shall  be  a  poor  man  ;"  he  that  indulges 
himself  in  "  wine  and  oil,"  that  is,  in  drinking,  in  feast- 
ing, and  in  sensual  gratifications,  "  shall  not  be  rich." 
It  is  one  of  St.  Paul's  characters  of  a  most  degenerate 
age,  when  u  men  become  lovers  of  pleasure  more  than 
"  lovers  of  God."  And  that  "  fleshly  lusts  war  against 
"  the  soul,"  is  St.  Peter's  caveat  to  the  Christians  of  his 
time. 

XL  Preserve  your  conscinece  always  soft  and  sensible  ; 
if  but  one  sin  force  its  way  into  that  tender  part  of  the 
soul,  and  dwell  easy  there,  the  road  is  paved  for  a  thou- 
sand iniquities. 

And  take  heed  that  under  any  scruple,  doubt  or  tempt- 
ation whatsoever,  you  never  let  any  reasonings  satisfy  your 
conscience,  which  will  not  be  a  sufficient  answer  or  apolo- 
gy to  the  great  Judge  at  the  lust  day. 

XII.  Keep  this  thought  ever  in   your  mind.     It  is  a 
world  of  vanity    and  vexation  in   which  you   live  ;  the 
Batteries  and  promises  of  it  are  vain  and  deceitful  ;  pre- 
pare therefore  to  meet  disappointments.     Many  of  its 
occurrences  are  teazing  and  vexatious.     In  every  ruff- 
ling storm  without,  possess  your  spirit   in   patience,  and 
let  all  be  calm  and  serene  within.     Clouds  and  tempests 
are  only  found  in  the  lower  skits  ;  the  heavens  above  are 
ever  bright  and  clear.     Let   your   heart  and  hope  dwell 
much  in  these  serene  regions  ;  live  as  a  stranger  here  on 
earth,  but  as  a  citizen  of  heaven,   if  you  will  maintain  a 
soul  at  ease. 

XIII.  Since  in  many  things  we  offend  all,  and  there 
is  not  a  clay   passes   which  is  perfectly  free  from  sin,   let 
4{  repentance  towards  God,   and  faith   in  our  Lord  Jesus 
u  Christ,"   be  your  daily  work.     A  frequent  renewal  of 
these  exercises  which  make  a  Christian  at  first,  will  be  a 
constant  evidence  of  your  sincere  Christianity,  and  give 
you  peace  in  life,  and  hope  in  death. 

XIV.  Ever  carry  about  with  yon   such  a   sense  of  the 
uncertainty  of  every  thing  in   this  life,  and  of  life  itself, 
as  to  put  nothing  off  till   to-morrow,  which  yon  can  con- 
veniently do    to-day.     Dilatory    persons    are   frequently 


262  The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 
exposed  to  surprise  and  hurry  in  every  thing  that  belongs 
to  them  :  the  time  is  come,  and  they  are  unprepared. 
Let  the  concerns  of  your  soul  and  your  shop,  your  trade 
and  your  religion,  lie  always  in  such  order,  as  far  as 
possible,  that  death,  at  a  short  warning,  may  be  no  oc- 
casion of  a  disquieting  tumult  in  your  spirit,  and  that 
you  may  escape  the  anguish  of  a  bitter  repentance  in  a 
dying  hour.  Farewel. 

Phronimus,  a  considerable  East-land  merchant  hap- 
pened upon  a  copy  of  these  advices,  about  the  time  when 
he  permitted  his  son  to  commence  a  partnership  with 
him  in  his  trade  ;  he  transcribed  them  with  his  own  hand, 
and  made  a  present  of  them  to  the  youth,  together  with 
the  articles  of  partnership.  Here,  young  man,  said  he, 
is  a  paper  of  more  worth  than  these  articles.  Read  it 
over  once  a  month,  till  k  is  wrought  in  your  very  soul 
and  temper.  Walk  by  these  rules,  and  I  can  trust  my 
estate  in  your  hands.  Copy  out  these  counsels,  in  your 
life,  and  you  will  make  me  and  yourself  easy  and  happy. 


The   Vision  of  Mirza,  exhibiting  a  Picture  of  Human  Life* 


a^  °^  t^ie  moon>  which  according  to 
the  custom  of  my  forefathers,  I  always  keep  holy, 
after  having  washed  myself,  and  offered  up  my  morning 
devotions,  I  ascended  the  high  hills  of  Bagdat,  in  order 
to  pass  the  rest  of  the  day  in  meditation  and  prayer.  As 
t  was  here  airing  myself  on  the  tops  of  the  mountains, 
I  fell  into  a  profound  contemplation  on  the  vanity  of  hu- 
man life  ;  and  passing  from  one  thought  to  another,  surely 
said  I,  man  is  but  a  shadow,  and  life  a  dream. 

2.  Whilst  I  was  thus  musing,  I  cast  my  eyes  towards 
the  summit  of  a  rock  that  was  not  far  from  me,  where  I 
discovered  one  in  the  habit  of  a  shepherd  with  a  little 
musical  instrument  in  his  hand.  As  I  looked  upon  him 
he  applied  it  to  his  lips,  and  began  to  play  upon  it. 
The  sound  of  it  was  exceeding  sweet,  and  wrought  into 
a  variety  of  tunes  that  were  inexpressibly  melodious,  and 
altogether  different  from  any  thing  I  had  ever  heard  : 
they  put  rne  in  min<^  of  |h9S5  iK.ayeuly  airs  thai  are 


and  English  Teacher'*  ASSISTANT.  263 

played  to  the  departed  souls  of  good  men  upon  their  first 
arrival  in  Paradise,  to  wear  out  the  impressions  of  the  last 
agonies,  and  qualify  them  for  the  pleasures  of  that  happy 
place.  My  heart  melted  away  in  secret  raptures. 

3.  I  had  often  been  told  that  the  rock  before  me  was 
the  haunt  of  a  genius  ;  and  that  several  had  been  enter- 
tained with  that  music,  who  had  passed  by  it,  but  never 
heard  that  the  musician  had  before  made  himself  visible. 
When  he  had  raised  my  thoughts  by  those  transporting 
airs  which  he  played,  to  taste  the  pleasures  of  his  conver- 
sation, as  I  looked  upon  him  like  one  astonished,  he  beck- 
oned to  me,  and  by  the  waving  of  his  hand,  directed  me 
to  approach  the  place  where  he  sat. 

4.  I  drew  near  with  that  reverence  which  is  due  to  a 
superior  nature ;  and  as  my  heart  was  entirely  subdued 
by  the  captivating  strains  I  had  heard,  I  fell  down  at  his 
feet  and  wept.     The  genius  smiled  on  me  with  a  look  of 
compassion  and  affability  that  familiarized  him  to  my  im- 
agination, and  at  once  dispelled  all  the  fears  and  apprehen- 
sions with  which  I  approached  him.     He  lifted  me  from 
the  ground,  and  taking  me  by  the  hand,  Mirza,  said  he,  I 
have  heard  thee  in  thy  soliloquies  :  follow  me. 

5.  He  then  lead  me  to  the  highest  pinnacle  of  the  rock, 
and  placing  me  on  the  top  of  it,  cast  thy  eyes  eastward, 
said  he,  and  tell  me  what  thou* seest.    I  see,  said  I,  a  huge 
valley  and  a  prodigious  tide  of  water  rolling  through  it. 
The  valley  that  thou  seest,  said  he,  is  the  vale  of  misery, 
and  the  tide  of  water  that  thou  seest  is  part  of  the  great 
tide  of  eternity. 

6.  What  is  the  reason,  said  I,  that  the  tide  I  see  rises 
eut  of  a  thick  mist  at  one  end,  and  again  loses  itself  in  a 
thick  mist  at  the  other  i  What  thou  seest,  said  he,  is  that 
portion  of  eternity  which  is  called  time,  measured  out  by 
the  sun,  and  reaching  from  the  beginning  of  the  world  to 
its  consummation.     Examine  now,  said  he,  this  sea  that 
is  bounded  with  darkness  at  both  ends,  and  tell  me  what 
thou  discoverest  in  it.     I  see  a  bridge,  said  I,  standing  in 
the  midst  of  the  tide.     The  bridge  thou  seest,  said  he,  is 
human  life  ;  consider  it  attentively* 

7.  Upon  a  more  leisurely  survey  of  it,  I  found  that  it 
consisted  of  threescore  and  ten  entire  arches,  with  several 
broken  arches,  which  added  to  those  that  were  entire, 


264      The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

made  up  the  number  of  about  an  hundred.  As  I  was 
counting  the  arches,  the  genius  told  me  that  this  bridge 
consisted  at  the  first  of  a  thousand  arches  ;  but  that  a  great 
flood  swept.away  the  rest,  and  left  the  bridge  in  the  ruin- 
ous condition  I  now  beheld  it :  but  tell  me  further,  said 
he,  what  thou  discoverest  on  it.  I  see  multitudes  of  peo- 
ple passing  over  it,  said  I,  and  a  black  cloud  hanging  on 
each  end  of  it. 

8.  As   I  looked  more  attentively,  I  saw  several  of  the 
passengers  dropping  through  the  bridge,  into  the  great 
tide  that  flowed  underneath  it  ;  and  upon  further  examin- 
ation, perceived  there  were  innumerable  trap-doors,  that 
lay  concealed  in  the  bridge,  which  the  passengers  no 
sooner   trod   upon,  but  they  fell  through  them  into  the 
tide,   and  immediately  disappeared.     These    hidden  pit- 
falls were  set  very  thick  at  the  entrance  of  the  bridge,  so 
that  throngs  of  people  no  sooner  broke  through  the  cloud, 
but  many  of  them  fell  into  them.     They  grew  thinner,  to- 
wards the  middle,  but  multiplied  and  lay  closer  together 
towards  the  end  of  the  arches  that  were  entire. 

9.  There  were  indeed  some  persons,  but  their  number 
was  very  small,  that,  continued  a  kind  of  hobbling  march 
on  the  broken  arches,  but  fell  through  one  after  another, 
being  quite  tired  and  spent  with  so  long  a  walk. 

10.  I  passed  some   time    in  the  contemplation  of  this 
wonderful  structure,    and  the    great   variety  of  objects 
which  it  presented.     My  heart  was  filled  with  a  deep  me- 
lancholy to  see  several  dropping  unexpectedly  in  the  midst 
of  mirth  and  jollity,  and  catching  at  every  thing  that  stood 
by  them  to  save  themselves.     Some  were  looking  up  to- 
wards the   heavens  in  a  thoughtful  posture,  and  in  the 
midst  of  a  speculation  stumbled  and  fell  out  of  sight. — 
Multitudes  were  very  busy  in  the  pursuit  of  bubbles,  that 
glittered  in  their  eyes  and  danced  before  them  ;  but  often 
when  they  thought  themselves  within  the  reach  of  them, 
their  footing  failed  and  down  they  sunk. 

1 1.  In  this  confusion  of  objects,  I  observed   some  with 
scymitars  in  their  hands,  and  others  with  urinals,  who  ran 
to  and  fro  upon  the  bridge,  thrusting  several  persons  on 
trap-doors  which  did  not  seem  to  lie  in  their  way,  and 
which  they  might  have  escaped  hat]  they  not  been  thus 
forced  upon  them. 


wilt  Mngtiah  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  265 

12.  The  genius  seeing  me  indulge  myself  in  this  mel- 
ancholy prospect,  told  me  I  had  dwelt  long  enough  upon 
it  :  take  thine  eyes  off  the  bridge,  says  he,  and  tell  me  if 
thou  seest  any  thing  thou  dost  not  comprehend.     Upon 
looking  up,  what    mean,    said   I,   those   great   flights  of 
birds  that  are  perpetually  hovering  about  the  bridge,  and 
settling  upon  it  from  time  to  time  ?   I  see  vultures,  harpies, 
wens,  cormorants,  and   among    many  other  feathered 
creatures  several  little  winged  boys,   that  perch  in  great 
numbers  upon  the  middle  arches.     These,  said  th-j  gcn- 
r.is,  are  envy,  avarice,  superstition,  despair,  love,  with  the 
like  cares  and  passions  that  infest  human  life. 

13.  I  here  fetched  a  deep  sigh  :   Alas,  said  I,  man  wa; 
made  in  vain  1  how  is  he  given  away  to  misery  and  moi- 

.tality  !  tortured  in  life,  and  swallowed  up  in  death  1  The 
genius  being  moved  \vith  compassion  towards  me,  bid  me 
•quit  so  uncomfortable  a  prospect.  Look  no  more,  said  he, 
on  man  in  the  first  stage  of  his  existence,  in  his  setting- 
out  for  eternity  ;  but  cast  thine  eye  on  that  thick  mist  into 
which  the  tide  bears  the  several  generations  of  mortals 
that  fall  into  it. 

14.  I  directed  my  sight  as  I  was  ordered,  and  (wheth- 
er or  no  the  good  genius  strengthened  it  with  any  super- 
natural force,  or  dissipated  part  of  the  mist  that  was  before 
too  thick  for  the  eye  to  penetrate)  I  saw  the  valley  open- 
ing at  the   farther  end,  and   spreading  forth  into  an  im- 

•  mense  ocean,  that  had  y  huge  rock  of  adamant  running 
through  the  midst  of  it,  and  dividing  it  into  two  equal 
parts.  The  clouds  still  rested  on  one  half  of  it,  insomuch 
that  I  could  discover  nothing  in  it  ;  but  the  other  appeared 
to  me  avast  ocean  planted  with  innumerable  islands,  that 
were  covered  with  fruits  and  flowers  ;  and  interwoven 
with  a  thousand  little  shining  seas  that  ran  among  them. 

15.  I  could  see  persons  dressed  inglorious  habits  with 
garlands  upon  their  heads,  passing  among  the  trees,  lying 
down  by  the  sides  of  fountains,  or  resting  on  beds  of  flow- 
ers :   and  could  hear  a  confused  harmony  of  singing  birds, 
falling   waters,   human  voices,  and  musical* instruments* 
Gladness  grew  in  me  at  the  discovery  of  so  delightful  a 
scene.     I  wished  for  the  wings  of  an  eagle,  that  I  might 
•fly  away  to  th  -y  seats:  hut  the  genius  told  i^e 


255       The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR. 

there  was  no  passage  to  them,  except  through  the  gates 
ol  death  that  I  saw  opening  every  moment  upon  the 
bridge. 

16.  The   islands,  said  he,  that  lie  so  fresh  and  green 
before  thee,  and  with  which  the  whole  face  of  the  ocean 
appears  spotted  as  far  as  thou  canst  see,  are  more  in  num- 
ber than  the  sand  on  the  sea  shore  ;  there  are  myriads  of 
islands  behind  those  which  thou  here  discoverest,  reaching 
further  than  thine  eye,  or  even  thine  imagination  can  ex- 
tend  itself.     These  are  the  mansions  of  good  men  after 
death,  who,   according  to  the  degree  and  Idnds  of  virtue 
in  which  they  excelled,  are  distributed  among  these  sev- 
eral islands,    which   abound    with    pleasures  of  different 
kinds,  and  degrees,  suitable  to  the  relishes  and  perfections 
of  those  who  are  settled  in  them  ;  every  island  is  a  para- 
dise accommodated  to  its  respective  inhabitants. 

17.  Are  not  these,    O  Mirza,  habitations  wortla    con- 
tending for  ?  Does  life  appear  miserable,  that  gives  thee 
opportunities  of  earning  such   a  reward  ?  Is  death  to   be 
feared  that  will  convey   thee  to  so  happy   an  existence  ? 
Think  not  man  was  made  in  vain,  who  has  such  an  eter- 
nity reserved  for  him.     I  gazed  with  inexpressible  pleas- 
ure on  these  happy  islands.     At  length,  said  I,  show  me 
now,  I  beseech  thee,  the   secrets  that  lie  hid  under  those 
dark  clouds,  which  cover  the  ocean  on  the  other  side  of 
the  rock  of  adamant. 

13.  The  genius  making  me  no  answer,  I  turned  about 
to  address  myself  to  him  a  second  time,  but  I  found  that 
lie  had  left  me  ;  I  then  turned  again  to  the  vision  which 
I  had  been  so  long  contemplating  :  but  instead  of  the 
rolling  tide,  the  arched  bridge,  and  the  happy  islands,  I 
iiaw  nothing  but  the  long  hollow  valley  of  Bagdat,  with 
oxen,  sheep,  and  camels  grazing  upon  the  sides  of  it. 


Riches  not  firaductrve  of  Haji/iiness  :   The  Story  of  Ortogrui 
„  of  Basra* 

IDLER,  NO.  99. 

S  Ortcgrul  of  Basra  was  one  day  wandering  along 
the  streets  of  Bagdat,  musing  on  the  varieties  of 
idize  which  tike  shops  offered  to  his  view,  and 


and  E7iglish  Teach er 's  A  s  s  i  s  T  A  N  T  .  26? 

observing  the  different  occupations  which  busied  the 
multitudes  on  .every  side,  he  was  awakened  from  the  tran- 
quillity of  meditation  by  a  crowd  that  obstructed  his  pas- 
s*age.  He  raised  his  eyes,  and  saw  the  chief  Visier,  who, 
having  returned  from  the  Divan,  \vas  entering  his 
palace. 

2.  Ortogrul  mingled  with  the  attendants,   and  being 
supposed  to  have  some  petition  for  the  Visier,  was  permit- 
ted to  enter.     He  surveyed  the  spaciousness  of  the  apart- 
ments, admired  the  walls  hung  with  golden  tapestry,  and 
the   floors  covered  with  silken  carpets,   and  despised  the 
simple  neatness  of  his  own  little  habitation. 

3.  Surely,  said  he  to  himself,  this  palace  is  the  seat  of 
happiness,  where  pleasure  succeeds  to  pleasure,  and  dis- 
content and  sorrow  can  have   no   admission.     Whatever 
nature  has  provided  for  the  delight  of  sense,  is  here  spread 
forth  to  be  enjoyed.     What  can  mortals  hope  or  imagine 
which  the  master  of  this  palace  has  not  obtained  ?  The 
dishes  of  luxury  cover  his  table,  the  voice  of  harmony  lulls 
him    in  his  bowers  ;  he  breathes   the   fragrance    of  the 
groves  of  Java,   and  sleeps  upon  the  down  of  the  cygnets 
of  Ganges.     He  speaks,  and   his  mandate  is  obeyed  ;   he 
wishes,  and  his  wish  is  gratified  !  all  whom  he  sees  obey 
him,  and  all  whom  he  hears  flatter  him. 

4.  How  different,  Ortogrul,  is  thy   condition,  who  art 
doomed  to  the   perpetual  torments  of  unsatisfied  desire, 
and  who  hast  no  amusement  in  thy  power  that  can  with- 
hold thee  from  thy  own  reflections  !  They  tell   thee   that 
them  art  wise,  but  what  does  wisdom  avail  with  poverty  ? 

•]Mone"  will  flatter  the  poor,  and  the  wise  have  very  little 
power  of  flattering  themselves.  That  man  is  surely  the 
most  wretched  of  the  sons  of  wretchedness,  who  lives  with 
his  own  faults  and  follies  always  before  him,  and  who  has 
none  to  reconcile  him  to  himself  by  praise  and  veneration. 
I  have  long  sought  content,  and  have  not  found  it ;  I  will 
from  this  moment  endeavor  to  be  rich. 

5.  Full  of  this  new   resolution,    he  shut  himself  in   his 
chamber  for  six  months  to  deliberate  how  he  should  grow 
rich  ;  he  sometimes  proposed  to  offer  himself  as  a  coun- 
sellor to  one  of  the  kings  of  India,  and  sometimes  resolved 
to  dig  for  diamonds  in  the  mines  of  Golconda.     One  day, 
after  some  hours  passed  in  violent  fluctuation. of  opinion, 


268      The  Young-  Gentleman  and  Ladifs  MONITOR. 

sleep  insensibly  seized  him  in  his  chair  ;  he  dreamed  that 
he  was  ranging  a  desert  country  in  search  of  some  one 
that  might  teach  him  to  grow  rich  ;  and  as  he  stood  on 
the  top  of  a  hill  shaded  with  cypress,  in  doubt  whither  to 
direct  his  steps,  his  father  appeared  on  a  sudden  stand- 
ing before  him. 

6.  Ortogrul,  said  the  old  man,  I  know  thy  perplexity  ; 
listen  to  thy  father;  turn  thine  eye  on  the  opposite  moun- 
tain.    Ortogrul  looked,  and  saw  a  torrent  tumbling  down 
the  roeks,  roaring  with  the  noise  of  thunder,  and  scattering 
its  foam  on  the  impending  woods.     Now,  said  his  father, 
behold  the  valley  that  lies  between  the  hills. 

7.  Ortogrul  looked,    and    espied  a  little   well,  out  of 
which  issued  a  small  rivulet.     Tell  me  now,  said  his  fath- 
er, dost  then  wish   for  sudden   affluence,    that  may  pour 

thee  like  the  mountain  torrent,  or  for  a  slow  and 
gradual  increase, resembling  the  rill  gliding  from  the  well  ? 
Let  me  be  quickly  rich,  said  Ortogrul  ;  let  the  golden 
stream  be  quick  and  violent. 

8c  Look  round  thee,  said  his  father,  once  again.  Or- 
togrul looked,  and  perceived  the  channel  of  the  torrent 
dry  and  dusty  ;  but  following  the  rivulet  from  the  well* 
he  traced  it  to  a  wide  lake,  which  the  supply,  slow  and 
constant,  kept  always  full.  Ke  waked  and  determined  to 
grow  rich  by  silent  profit  and  persevering  industry. 

9.  Having  sold  his  patrimony,  he  engaged  in  merchan- 
Mid   in   twenty   years  purchased   lands  on  which  he 

raised  a  house,  equal  in  sumptuousness  to  that  of  the 
Visier,  to  which  he  invited  all  the  ministers  of  pleasure, 
expecting  to  enjoy  all  the  felicity  which  he  had  imagined 
riches  able  to  afford.  Leisure  soon  made  him  weary  of 
himself,  and  he  longed  to  be  persuaded  that  he  was  great' 
and  happy.  He  was  courteous  and  liberal  ;  he  ga- 
that  approached  him  hopes  of  pleasing  him,  ana  ail  who 
should  please  him  hopes  of  being  rewarded.  Every  art 
of  praise  was  tried,  and  every  source  of  adulatory  fictioa 
was  exhausted. 

10.  Ortogrul  heard   his  flatterers  without  delight,  be- 
cause he  found  him  self  unable  to  believe  them.     His  own 
heart  told   him  its  frailties.     His  own  understanding  re- 
proached him  with  his  faults.     How  long,   said   he. 

a  deep  sigh,  have  I  been  laboring  in  vain  to  amass  v/e?Jtk 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  269 

which  at  last  is  useless  ?  Let  no  man  hereafter  wish  to  b$ 
rich,  who  is  already  too  wise  to  be  flattered,,. 


Of  the  Scriptures,  as  the  Rule  ef  Life. 

1.  \  S  you  advance  in  years  and  understanding,  I  hope 
jLJL  you  will  be  able  to  examine  for  yourself  the  evi- 
dence of  the  Christian  religion,  and  that  you  will  be  con- 
vinced, on  rational  grounds,  of  its  divine  authority.  At 
present,  such  inquiries  would  demand  more  study,  and 
greater  powers  of  reasoning,  than  your  age  admits  o£ 
It  is  your  part  therefore,  till  you  are  capable  of  under- 
standing the  proofs,  to  believe  your  parents  and  teachers,, 
that  the  holy  scriptures  are  writings  inspired  by  GodT 
containing  a  true  history  of  facts,  in  which  we  are  deeply 
concerned — >a  true  recital  of  the  laws  given  by  God  to 
Moses*  and  of  the  precepts  of  our  blessed  Lord  and  Sa- 
viour, delivered  from  his  own  mouth  to  his  disciples,  and 
repeated  and  enlarged  upon  in  the  edifying  epistles  ef 
his  Apostles — who  were  men  chosen  from  amongst  those 
who  had  the  advantage  of  conversing  with  our  Lord,  to 
bear  witness  of  his  miracles  and  resurrection — and  who, 
after  his  ascension,  were  assisted  and  inspired  by  the  Ho- 
ly Ghost. 

2.  This   sacred  volume  must  be  the  rule  of  your  life. 
In  it  you  will  find  ail  the  truths  necessary  to  be  believed  ; 
and    plain  and  easy  directions   for  the   practice  of  every 
duty.     Your   bible    then  must  be  your   chief  study    and 
delight  :  but,  as   it  contains  many  various  kinds  of  writ- 
ing—some   parts  obscure    and  difficult  of  interpretation, 
others  plain   and   intelligible  to  the  meanest  capacity— I 
would  chiefly  recommend  to  your  frequent   perusal  snch 
parts  of  the  sacred  writings  as  are  most  adapted  to  your 
understanding,  and  m  st  necessary  for  your  instruction. 

3.  Our  Saviour's  precepts  were  spoken  to  the  common 
people   amongst  the  Jews  :   and  were  therefore  given   in 
a  manner  easy  to  be  understood,  and  equally  strik'Rg  and 
instructive  to   the  learned   and  unlearnt-d  ;    ror  t'>;   most 
ignorant  may   comprehend  them,  whilst    t!      u-is     t    unst 
be  charmed  and  awed  by  the  beautiful  and  maiestic  sun* 

Z    2 


270      The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR. 

plicity  with  which  they  are  expressed.  Of  the  same  kind 
are  the  Ten  Commandments,  delivered  by  God  to  Moses ; 
\vhich,  as  they  were  designed  for  universal  laws,  are  word- 
ed in  the  most  concise  and  simple  manner,  yet  with  a 
majesty  which  commands  our  utmost  reverence. 

4.  I   think  you  will  receive  great  pleasure,    as  well  ;)S 
improvement,   from  the  historical  books  of  the  Old  Tes- 
tament— provided  you  read  them  as  an  history,  in  a  regu- 
lar course,  and  keep  the  thread  of  it  in  your  mind  as  you 
go  on.     I  know  of  none,  true  or  fictitious  that  is  equally 
wonderful,  interesting,  and  affecting  ;  or  that  is  told  in  so 
short  and  simple  a  manner  as  this,  which  is  of  all  histories 
the  most  authentic. 

5.  I  shall    give  you  some  brief  directions,  concerning 
the  method  and  course  I    wish  you  to  pursue,  in  reading 
the  Holy  Scriptures.     May  you  be   enabled  to  make  the 
test  use   of  this  most  precious  gift  of  God— this  sacred 
treasure   of  knowledge  ! — May  you  read  the  bible,  not  as 
a  task,   nor  as  the  dull  employment  of  that  day  only  in 
which  you  are  forbidden  more  lively  entertainments— but, 
•v^ith  a  sincere  and  ardent  desire  of  instruction  ;   with  that 
love  and  delight  in  God's  word,  which   the  holy  Psalmist 
so  pathetically  felt  and  described,  and  which  is  the  natural 
consequence  of  loving  Gocl  and  virtue. 

6.  Though  I  speak  this  o'f  the  Bible  in  general,  I  would 
'not  be  understood  to  mean,  that  every  part  of  the  volume 

is  equally  interesting.  I  have  already  said,  tint  it  con- 
sists  of  various  matter,  and  various  kinds  of  books,  which 
must  be  read  with  different  views  and  sentiments. 

7.  The  having  some   general  notion  of  what  you  are 
to  expect  from  each  book,  may  possibly  help  you  to  un- 
derstand them.     1  shall  treat  you  as  if  you  were  perfectly 
new  to  the  whole  ;  for  so  I  wish  you  to  consider  yourself; 
because  the  time   and  manner  in  which  children  usually 
J?ead  the  Bible,  are  very   ill  calculated  ta  make  them  re- 
ally acquainted   with  it  ;   and  too  many  people  who  have 
vead  it  thus,  without  understanding  it  in  their  youth,  sat- 
isfy themselves  that  they  know  enough  of  it,4  and  never 
afterwards  study  it  with  attention  when  they  come  to  a 
Hiaturer  age. 

8.  If  the  feelings  of  your  heart  whilst  you  read,  cor- 
respond with  those  of  mine  whilst  I  write,  I  shall  not  be 


v^ 

and  English  Teachers  ASSISTANT \  271 

without  the  advantage  of  your  partial  affection,  to  give 
weight  to  my  advice  ;  for,  believe  me,  ray  heart  and 
eyes  overflow  with  tenderness,  when  I  tell  you  how  warm 
and  earnest  my  prayers  are  for  your  happiness  here  and 
hereafter. 

Of  Genesis* 

9.  T  NOW  proceed  to  give  you  some  short  sketches  of 
A  the  matter  contained  in  the  different  books  of  the  Bi- 
ble, and  of  the  course  in  which  they  ought  to  be  read. 

10.  The  first  book,  Genesis,  contains  the  most  grand, 
and  to  vis  the  most  interesting  events,  that  ever  happened 
in  the  universe  :— -The  creation  of  the  world  and  of  man  s 
»—The  deplorable  fall  of  man,  from  his  first  state  of  ex- 
cellence and  bliss,  to  the  distressed  condition  in  which 
we  see  all  his  descendants  continue  : — The  sentence  of 
death  pronounced  on  Adam,  and  on  all  his  race — with 
the  reviving  promise  of  that  deliverance,  which  has  since 
been  wrought  for  us  by  our  blessed  Saviour  : — The  ac- 
count of  the  early  state  of  the  world  : — Of  the  universal 
deluge  : — The  division  of  mankind  into  different  nations 
and  languages: — The  story  of  Abraham,  the  founder 
of  the  Jewish  people  ;  whose  unshaken  faith  and  obedi- 
ence, under  the  severest  trial  human  nature  could  sustain, 
obtained  such  favor  in  the  sight  of  God,  that  he  vouchsaf- 
ed to  stile  him  his  friend,  and  promised  to  make  of  his 
posterity  a  great  nation  ;  and  that  in  his  seed-— that  is> 
in  one  of  his  descendant? — all  the  kingdoms  of  the  earth 
fihonld  be  blessed  :  this  you  will  easily  see,  refers  to  the 
I  ah,  who  was  to  be  the  blessing  and  deliverance  of 
i.l!  nations. 

1  i.  It  is  amazing  that  the  Jews,  possessing  this  pro- 
phecy among  many  others,  should  have  been  so  blinded 
by  prejudice,  as  to  have  expected,  from  this  great  person- 
age, only  a  temporal  deliverance  of  their  own  nation  from 
the  subjection  to  which  they  were  reduced  under  the  Ro- 
mans :  It  is  equally  amazing,  that  some  Christians  should, 
even  now,  confine  the  blessed  effects  of  his  appearance 
upon  earth,  to  this  or  that  particular  sect  or  profession, 
when  he  is  so  clearly  and  emphatically  described  as  the 
Saviour  of  the  whole  world. 


272      Tkc  Young'  Gentleman  and  Ladfs  MONITOR, 

12.  The  story  of  Abraham's   proceeding  to  sacrifice 
his  only  son,  at  the  command  of  God,  is  affecting  in  the 
highest  degree,  and  sets  forth  a  pattern  of  unlimited  re- 
signation, that  every  one  ought  to  imitate  in  those  trials 
of  obedience  under  temptation,  or  of  acquiescence  under 
afflicting  dispensations,  which  fall  to  their  lot :  of  this  we 
may  be  assured,  that  our  trials  will  be  always  proportion- 
ed to  the  powers  afforded  us.     If  we  have  not  Abraham's 
strength  of   mind,    neither  shall   we  be    called  upon  to 
lift  the  bloody  knife  against  the  bosom  of  an  only  child  j 
but  if  the  Almighty  arm  should  be  lifted  up  against  him, 
we  must  be  ready  to  resign  him,  and  all  we  hold  clear  to 
the  divine  will. 

13.  This   action    of  Abraham   has  been  censured  by 
some  who  do  not  attend  to  the  distinction  between  obedi- 
ence to  a  special  command,   and  the  detestable  crutl  sac- 
rifices of  the  Heathens,  who  sometimes  voluntarily  and 
without  any  divine  injunctions,  offered  up  their  own  chil- 
dren, under  the  notion   of  appeasing  the  anger  of  their 
gods.     An  absolute  command  from  God  himself — as  in 
the  case  of  Abraham — entirely   alters  the  moral    nature 
of  the  action  :  since  he  and  he  only,  has  a  perfect  right 
over  the   lives  of  his  creatures,  and  may   appoint  whom 
he  will,  either  angel  or  man,  to  be  his  instrument  of  de- 
struction. 

14.  That   it  was   really  the  voice  of  God    which  pro- 
nouncecl  the  command,  and  not  a  delusion,  might  be  made 
certain  to  Abraham's  mind,  by  means  we  do  not  compre- 
hend, but  which  we  know  to  be  within   the  power  of  him 
who  made  our  souls  as  well  as  bodies,  and  who  can  con- 
trol and  direct  every  faculty  of  the  human  mind  :  and  we 
may  be  assured,  that  if  he  was  pleased  to  reveal  himself 
so  miraculously,  he  would  not  leave  a  possibility  of  doubt- 
ing whether  it  was  a   real  or  an   imaginary  revelation  ;• 
thus  the  sacrifice  of  Abraham  appears  to  be  clear  of  all 
s  iperstition   and  remains  the  noblest  instance  of  religious 
faith  and  submission,  that  was  ever  p;iven  by  a  mere  man  .' 
we   cannot  wonder  that    the    blessings  bestowed  on  him 
for  it,  should  have  been  extended  to  hFs  posterity. 

15.  This  book   proceeds   with  the    history   of  Isaac, 
which  becomes  very  interesting  to  us,    from  the  tone 

I  have   mentioned. — and  still  more  so,  if  we 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTAN^.  273 

sider  him  as  the  type  of  our  Saviour  :  It  recounts  his 
marriage  with  Rebecca — the  birth  and  history  of  his  two 
sons,  Juc@b,  the  father  of  the  twelve  tribes,  and  Esau,  the 
father  of  the  Edomites  or  Idumeans — the  exquisitely  af- 
fbcting  history  of  Joseph  and  his  brethren — and  of  his 
transplanting  the  Israelites  into  Egypt}  who  there  multi- 
plied to  a  great  nation. 

Of  Exodus, 

\  6.  TN  Exodus,  you  read  of  a  series  of  wonders,  wrought 
JL  by  the  Almighty  to  rescue  the  oppressed  Israelites 
from  the  cruel  tyranny  of  the  Egyptians,  who  having  first 
received  them  as  guests,  by  degrees  reduced  them  to  a 
state  of  slavery.  By  the  most  peculiar  mercies  and  exer- 
tions in  their  favor,  God  prepared  his  chosen  people  to 
receive,  with  reverent  and  obedient  hearts,  the  solemn  res- 
titution of  those  primitive  laws,  which  probably  he  had  re- 
vealed to  Adam  and  his  immediate  descendants,  or  whkh, 
at  least,  he  had  made  known  by  the  dictates  of  conscience, 
but  which,  time  and  the  degeneracy  of  mankind,  had 
much  obscured. 

17.  This  important  revelation  was  made  to  them  in 
the  wilderness    of  Sinah  ;   there    assembled-  before    the' 
burning  mountain,  surrounded  "  with  blackness,  and  dark- 
ness, and  tempest,"  they  heard  the  awful  voice  of  God, 
pronounce  the  eternal  law,   impressing  it  on  their  hearts, 
with   circumstances  of  terror,   but  without  those  encour- 
agements and    those    excellent    promises,    which    were 
.'•fterw.irds    offered  to  mankind   by   Jcsi-s   Christ.     Thus 
were    the   p;reat  laws  of  morality   restored   to  the  Jews, 
and    through    them   transmitted   to  olh^r   Tuitions  ;   and 
by  that  means   a  great   r  '>cd   to  the  tor- 

•« f  vice  and  impiety -:  t-vtul   over  the 

-Id. 

18.  To  those  moral  prece; :.ts,  which    are  of  perpetual 
and  universe]  obligation,  were  fruperadfied,  by  the  ministra- 
tion o  .  many  peculiar  institutions,  wisely  adapted 
to  different  ends — either,  to  fix 'the  memory  of  those  past 
deliverances,  which   were  figurative  of  a  future  and  far 

ter  salvation — to  place  inviolable  barriers  between  the 
and  the  idolatrous  iu.ticr.s,  by  whcm  they  were  sur- 


274      The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

rounded — or,  to  be  the  civil  law  by  which  the  community 
was  to  be  governed. 

19.  To  conduct  this  series  of  events,  and  to  establish 
these  laws  with  his  people,  God  raised  up  that  great  pro- 
phet Moses,  whose  faith  and  piety  enabled  him  to  undertake 
and  execute  the   most  arduous  enterprises,  and  to  pursue, 
with   unabated    zeal,   the   welfare   of     his   countrymen  \. 
even  in  the  hour  of  death,  this  generous  ardor  still    pre- 
vailed ;  his    last     moments   were    employed    in    fervent 
prayers  for  their  prosperity,  and,  in  rapturous  gratitude, 
for  the  glimpse  vouchsafed  him  of  a  Saviour,  far  greater 
than  himself,  whom  God  would  one  day  raise  up  to  his 
people. 

20.  Thus  did   Moses,   by  the   excellency  of  his  faith, 
obtain    a    glorious  pre-eminence  among  the   saints  and 
prophets  in   heaven  ;  while  on  earth  he  will  be  for  ever 
revered  as  the  first  of  those  benefactors  to  mankind,  whose, 
labors  for  the  public  good  have  endeared  their  memory  to 
all  ages. 

Of  Leviticus^  Numbers,  and  Deuteronomy* 

21.  ^  |  ^HE  next  book  is  Leviticus,  which  contains  little 
JL  besides  the  laws  for  the  peculiar  ritual  observance 
of  the  Jews,  and  therefore  affords  no  great  instruction  to- 
ns now  ;  you  may  pass  it  over  entirely  :-~and  for  the  same 
reason  you  may  omit  the  first  eight  chapters  of  Numbers. 
The  rest  of  Numbers  is  chiefly  a  continuation  of  the  his- 
tory, with  some  ritual  laws. 

22.  In    Deuteronomy,   Moses  makes  a  recapitulation 
of  the  foregoing  history,  with  zealous  exhortations  to  the' 
people.,  faithfully  to  worship  and  obey  that  God  who  had 
worked  such  amazing  wonders   for  them  :   he  promises 
them  the  noblest  temporal  blessings  if  they  prove  obedient 
and  adds  the  most  awful  and  striking  denunciations  against 
them,  if  they  rebel,  or  forsake  the  true  God. 

23.  I   have  before  observed,  that  the  sanctions  of  the 
Mosaic   law,   were  temporal  rewards  and  punishments  ; 
those  of  the  New-Testament  are  eternal :   These  last,  as 
they  are  so   infinitely  more  forcible    than  the  first,  were 
reserved  for  the  last,  best  gift  to  mankind — and  were  re- 
vealed by  the  Messiah,  in  the  fullest  and  clearest  manner. 


end  -English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  275 

Moses,  in  this  book  directs  the  method  in  which  the  Is- 
raelites were  to  deal  with  the  seven  nations,  whom  they 
were  appointed  to  punish  for  their  profligacy  and  idolatry, 
and  whose  land  they  were  to  possess,  when  they  had  driv- 
en out  the  old  inhabitants.  He  gives  them  excellent  laws, 
.civil  as  well  as  religious,  which  were  after  the  standing 
municipal  laws  of  that  people— -This  book  concludes  with 
Moses's  song  and  death. 

Of  Joshua. 

24,  r  |  ^HE  book  of  Joshua  contains  the  conquests  of  the 
JL  Israelites  over  the  seven  nations,  and  their  es- 
tablishment in  the  promised  land.— Their  treatment  .of 
these  conquered  nations  must  appear  to  you  very  cruel  and 
unjust,  if  you  consider  it  as  their  own  act,  unauthorized 
by  a  positive  command  ;  but  they  had  the  most  absolute 
injunctions,  not  to  spare  these, corrupt  people — "  to  make 
no  covenant  with  them,  nor  show  mercy  to  them,  but 
utterly  to  destroy  them  :" — and  the  reason  is  given, — 
"  lest  they  should  turn  away  the  Israelites  from  follow- 
ing the  Lord,  that  they  may  serve  other  gods."  The 
children  of  Israel  are  to  be  considered  as  instruments  in 
the.  hand  of  the  Lord,  to  punish  those  whose  idolatry  and 
wickedness  had  deservedly  brought  destruction  on  them  .: 
this  example,  therefore,  cannot  be  pleaded  in  behalf  of 
.cruelty,  or  bring  any  imputation  on  the  character  of  the 
Jews. 

25.  With  regard  to  other  cities,  which  did  not  belong 
to  these  seven    nations,  they   were   directed    to  deal  with 
them,  according  to  the  common  law  oF  arms  at  that  time. 
If  the  city  submitted,  it   became  tributary,  and  the  people 
were  spared  ;  if  it  resisted,  the  men  were  to  be  slain,  but 
the  women  and  children  saved. 

26.  Yet,  though  the  crime  of  cruelty  cannot  be  justly 
laid  to  their  charge  on  this  occasion,  you  will  observe  in 
the  course  of  their  history,  many  things  recorded  of  them 
very  different  from  what  you  would  expect  from  the  cho- 
sen people  of  God,  if  you  supposed  them  selected  on  ac- 
count of  their  own    merit  ;  tLeir  national  character  was 
by  no  means  amiable  ;   and  we  are  repeatedly  told,   that 

Xhey  were  not  chosen  for  their  superior  righteousness— 


$>76       The  Young  Gentleman  and  Levy's  MONITOR, 

•"  for  they  were  a  stiff  necked  people,  and  provoked  the 
"  Lord  with  their  rebellions  from  the  day  they  leu 
"  Egypt."—"  YotV'have  been  rebellious  against  the  Lord, 
"  (says  Moses)  from  the  clay  .that  I  knew  you."  And  he 
vehemently  exhorts  them,  not  to  flatter  themselves  that 
their  success  was,  in  any  degree,  owing  to  their  .own. 
merits. 

27.  They  were  appointed  to  be  the  scourge  of  other 
nations,  whose  crimes  rendered  them  fit  objects  of  divine 
chastisement.  For  the  sake  of  righteous  Abraham,  their 
founder,  and  perhaps  for  many  other  wise  reasons,  undis-  , 
covered  to  us,  they  were  selected  from  a  world  over-run 
\vith  idolatry,  to  preserve  upon  earth  the  pure  worship  of 
tl-e  one  only  God,  and  to  be  honored  with  the  birth  of  the 
Messiah  amongst  them.  For  this  end,  they  were  preclu- 
ded, by  divine  command,  from  mixing  with  any  other  peo- 
ple, and  defended  by  a  great  number  of  peculiar  rites  and 
observances,  from  failing  into  the  corrupt  worship  practis- 
ed by  their  neighbors. 

Of  Judges,  Samuel^  and  Kings. 

£8.r  g  MiE  book  of  Judges,   in  which   you  will  -find  the 
I      affecting  stories  of  Sampson  and  Jeptha,  carries 
-on  the  history 'from  the  death  of  Joshua,  about  two  hun- 
dred   and  fifty  years  ;   but  the  facts   are   not  told  in  the 
times  in  which  they   happened,  which  makes  some  con- 
fusion ;   and  it  will  be   necessary  to  consult  the  margin- 
al dates  and  notes,   as   well  as  the  Index,  in  order  to  get 
any  clear  idea   of  the  succession  cf  events  during  that 
period. 

29.  The  history  then  proceeds  regularly  through  the 
two  books  of  Samuel,  and  those. of  Kings  :  nothing  can 
be  more  interesting  and  entertaining  than  the  reigns  of 
Saul,  David,  and  Solomon  :  but  after  the  death  of  Solo- 
mon, when  ten  tribes  revolted  from  his  son  Rehoboham, 
and  became  a  separate  kingdom,  you  will  find  some  dif- 
iiculty  in  understanding  distinctly  the  histories  of  the  two 
kingdoms  cf  Israel  and  Judah,  which  are  blended  to- 
gether, and  by  the  likeness  of  the  names,  and  other 
particulars,  will  be  apt  to  confound  your  mind,  without 
great  attention  to  the  different  threads  thus 


.'..' IC/^&s//  Teachers  ASSISTANT*  277 

...jr  :  The  Index  here  will  be  of  great  use  to  you* 
The  second  book  of  Kings  concludes  with  the  Babylonish 
captivity,  588  years  before  Christ — 'till  which  time  the 
kingdom  of  Jilduh  had  descended  uninterruptedly  in  the 
line  of  David. 

Of  Chronicles^  Ezra,  J\fcha.miah  and  Esther* 
,£0.  HjFUiE  first  book  of  Chronicles  begins  with  a  gen- 
JL  eulogy  from  Adam,  through  all  the  tribes  oT 
Israel  and  Juclah  ;  and  the  remainder  is  the  same  history 
which  is  contained  in  the  books  of  Kings,  with  little  or 
BO  variation,  till  the  separation  of  the  ten  tribes  :  From 
that  period  it  proceeds  -with  the  history  of  the  kingdom 
of  Juclah  alone,  and  gives  therefore  a  more  regular  and 
clear  account  of  the  affairs  of  JucUJi,  than  the  book  of 
Kings.  You  my  pass  over  the  first  book  of  Chronicles, 
fwul  the  nine  'first  chapters  of  the  second  book  :  but,  by 
all  means,  read  the  remaining  chapters,  as  they  will  ; •;••* 
you  more  clear  and  distinct  ideas  of  the  history  of  Judah, 
tlran  that  you  read  in  the  second  book  of  Kings.  The 
second  of  Chronicles  ends,  like  the  second  of  Kings,  with 
the  Babylonish  captivity. 

31.  You  rmist  pursue  the  history  in  the  book  of  Fzra, 
'.. .  ich  gives  the  account  of  the  return  of  some  of  the 
Jews  on  the  edict  of  Cyrus,  and  of  the  Te-huilding  the 
Loi'd's  temple. 

22,   l-i-ih-.jvniah  carries  on  the  history  for  about  twelve 
\Vl.cn  he  himself  \va$   governor  of  Jerusalem, 
ty  to  re-bui!d  the  walls,  Or. 

33«  The  history  of  Esther  is  prior  in  time  to  that  of 
Ezra  and  Nehemiah  ;  &s  you  will  see  by  the  margin-/ 1 
ihrtes  :  however,  as  it  happened  during  the  seventy  years' 
raptivity,  and  as  a  kind  of  epitiocle,  it  may  be  read  in  it.c; 
o\vn  place. 

34.  This  is  the  last  of  the  canonical  books  that  is  pro- 
perly historical  ;  and  I  would  therefore  advise,  that  you 
pass  over  -what  follows,  till  you  have  continued  the  history 
through  the  apocryphal  Books. 

Of  Job. 

35-  r  "HHE  story  of  Job  is  probably  very  ancknt,  though 
.JL     that  is   a   point  upon  which   learned   men  have 
diHcr  '.liiUd,  however,  1520  years  before  Christ  -, 

A  a 


278      The  Young'  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

I  believe  it  is  uncertain  by  whom  it  was  written  :  many 
parts  of  it  are  obscure,  but  it  is  well  worth  studying,  for 
the  extreme  beauty  of  the  poetry,  and  for  the  Boble  and 
sublime  devotion  it  contains. 

36.  The  subject  of  the   dispute  between  Job  and  his 
pretended  friends,  seems  to  be,    whether  the  Providence 
of  God  distributes  the  rewards  and  punishments  of  this 
life,   in  exact  proportion  to  the  merit  or  demerit  of  each 
individual.     His  antagonists  suppose  that  it  does  ;  and 
therefore  infer  from  Job's  uncommon  calamities,  that, 
notwithstanding   his  apparent    righteousness,  he  was  in 
reality  a  grievous  sinner  :  They   aggravate   his  supposed 
guilt,  by  the  imputation  of  hypocrisy,  and  call  upon  him 
to  confess  it,  and  to  acknowledge  the  justice  of  his  pun- 
ishment. 

37.  Job  asserts  his  own   innocence  and  virtue  in   the 
•most  pathetic  manner,  yet  does  not  presume  to  accuse 
the  Supreme  Being  of  injustice.     Elihu  attempts  to  ar- 
bitrate the  matter,  by  alledging  the  impossibility  that  so 
frail  and  ignorant  a  creature  as  man   should  comprehend 
the  ways  of  the  Almighty,  and  therefore  condemns  the 
unjust  and  cruel  inference  the  three  friends  had  drawn 
from  the  sufferings  of  Job.     He  also  blames  Job  for  the 
presumption  of  acquitting  himself  of  all  iniquity,  since 
the  best  of  men  are  not  pure  in  the  sight  of  God — but  all 
have  something  to  repent  of;  and  he  advises  him  to  make 
this  use  of  his  afflictions. 

38.  At  last,   by  a  bold  figure  of  poetry,  the  Supreme 
Being  himself  is  introduced,   speaking   from  the  whirl- 
•vvind,  and  silencing  them  all  by  the  most  sublime  display 
of  his  own  power,  magnificence,  and  wisdom,  and  of  the 
comparative  littleness  and  ignorance  of  men.— This  in- 
deed is  the  only  conclusion  of  the  argument,  which  could 
be  drawn  at  a  time  when  life  and  immortality  were  not 
yet  brought  to  light  :  a  future  retribution  is  the  only   sat- 
isfactory solution  of  the  difficulty  arising  from  the  suffer- 
ings of  good  .people  is  this  life. 

Of  the  Psalms. 

39.  "XTEXT  follow  the  Psalms,  with  which  you  cannot 

JJN    be  too  conversant.     If  you  have  any  taste,  either 

for  poetry  or  devotion,  they  will  be  your  delight,  and 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  279 

will  afford  you  a  continual  feast.  The  bible  translation 
is  far  better  thun  that  used  in  the  common-prayer  book, 
and  will  often  give  you  the  sense,  \vhen  the  other  is  ob- 
scure. In  this,  as  well  as  in  all  other  parts  of  the  scrip- 
ture, you  must  be  careful  always  to  consult  the  mar- 
gin, which  gives  you  the  corrections  made  since  the  last 
translation,  and  it  is  generally  preferable  to  the  words  of 
the  text. 

40.  I  would  wish  you  to  select  some  of  the  Psalms  that 
please  you    best,  and  get  them  by   heart  ;  or,   at  least, 
make  yourself  master  of  the  sentiments  contained  in  them: 
Dr.  Delany's  life  of  David,  will  show  you  the  occasions 
on  which    several  of  them  were  composed,   which  add 
much  to  their  beauty  and  propriety  ;  and  by  comparing 
them  with   the  events  of  David's  life,   you   will  greatly 
enhance  your  pleasure  in  them. 

41.  Never  did  the  spirit  of  true  piety  breathe  more 
strongly  than  in  these  divine  songs  ;  which  being  added 
to  a  rich  vein  of  poetry,  makes  them  more  captivating 
to  my  heart  and  imagination,  than  any  thing  I  ever  read. 
You   wiJl    consider    how   great  disadvantages   any   poem 
must  sustain  from   being  rendered  literally   into   prose, 
and  then  imagine   how  beautiful  these    must  be  in  the 
original.     May  you  be  enabled  by  reading  them  frequent- 
ly, to  transfuse  into  your  own  breast  that  holy  flame  which 
inspired  the  writer  ! — To  delight  in  the  Lord,  and  in  his 
laws,   like  the  Psalmist — to   rejoice  in   him  always,  and 
to  think  "  one  day  in  his  courts  better  than  a  thousand  1" 
— But  may  you  escape  the  heart  piercing  sorrow  of  such 
repentance   as  that  of  David — by    avoiding  sin,    which 
humbled  this  unhappy  king  to  the  dust — and  which  cost 
him  .such  bitter  anguish,  as  it  is  impossible  to  read  of 
"without  being  moved. 

42.  Not  all  the  pleasures  of  the  most  prosperous  sin* 
ners,  could  counterbalance  the  hundredth  part  of  those 
sensations  described  in  his  penitential  Psalms — and  which 
must  be  the  portion  of  every  man,  who  has  fallen  from 
a  religious  state  into  such  crimes,  when  once  he  recovers 
a  sense  of  religion  and  virtue,  and  is  brought  to  a  real 
hatred  of  sin  :  however  available   such  repentance  may 
be  to  the  safety  and  happiness  of  the  soul  after  death? 

-.k  is  n  state  of  such  exquisite  suffering  here,  thut  ore 


280      The  Young  Gentleman  and  Ladifs  MONITOR, 

cannot  be  enough  surprised  at  the  folly  of  those  wh^  :.n- 
clulge  sin,  with  the  hope  of  living  to  make  their  peace 
with  God  by  repentance. 

43.  Happy  are  they  who  preserve  their  innocence  un- 
sullied by  any  great  or  wilful  crimes,  and  who  have  only 
the  common  failings  of  humanity  to  repent  of  ;  these  are 
sufficiently  mortifying  to  a  heart  deeply  smitten  with  the 
love  of  virtue,  and  with  the  desire  of  perfection. 

44.  There   are  many   very  striking  prophecies  of  the 
Messiah  in  these  divine  songs,  particularly  in  Psalm  xxiu 
Such  maybe  found  scattered  up  and  down  almost  through- 
out the  Old  Testament.     To  bear  testimony  to  him,  is  the 
great  and  ultimate  end  for  which  the  spirit  of  prophecy 
was  bestowed    on  the   sacred  writers  ;— but,  this  will  zip- 
pear  more  plainly  to  you  when  you  enter  on  the  study  of 
prophecy,  which  you  are  now  much  too  young  to  under- 
take. 

Of  the  Pro-verbs^  Scdcsiastcs^  Solomon's  Song^  the  Prophe- 
cies, and  Apocrypha. 

45.  ^  §  THE  Proverbs  and  Ecclesiastes  are  rich  stores  of 
JL  wisdom  ;  from  which  I  wish  you  to  adopt  such 
maxims  as  may  be  of  infinite  use,  both  to  your  temporal 
arui  eternal  interest.  Bat,  detached  sentences  are  a  kind 
of  reading  not  proper  to  be  continued  long  at  a  time  ; 
a  few  of  them,  well  chosen  and  digested,  will  do  you 
much  more  service,  than  to  read  half  a  dozen  chapters 
together  ;  in  this  respect,  they  are  directly  opposite  to  tL-e 
historical  books,  which,  if  not  read  in  continuation,  can 
hardly  be  understood,  or  retained  to  any  purpose. 

46*  The  Song. of  Solomon  is  a  fine  poem — but  its  mys 
tical  reference  to  religion  lies  too  deep  for  a  common  un- 
derstanding :  if  you  read  it  therefore,  it  will  be  rather  ub 
matter  of  curiosity  than  of  edification. 

47.  Next  follow  the  Prophecies  ;  which,  though  highly 
deserving  the  greatest  attention  and  study,  I  think  you 
had  better  omit  for  some  years,  and  then  read  thtm  with 
a  good  exposition,  'as  they  are  much  too  difficult  for  you 
to  understand  without  assistance.  Dr.  Newton  on  the 
prophecies,  will  help  you  fnivch,  whenever  you  undertone 
this  study—which  you  should  by  all  means  do  when  your 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  281 

understanding  is  ripe  enough  ;  because  one  of  the  main 
proofs  of  our  religion  rests  on  the  testimony  of  the  proph- 
ecies ;  and  they  are  very  frequent]}7  quoted,  and  referred 
to,  in  the  New-Testament :  besides,  the  sublimity  of  the 
language  and  sentiments,  through  all  the  disadvantages  of 
antiquity  and  translation,  must  in  very  many  pass.-ip-cs, 
strike  every  person  of  Uiste  ;  and  the  excellent  moral  and 
religious  precepts  found  in  them  must  be  useful  to  all. 

43.  Though  I  have  spoken  of  these  books  in  the  order 
in  which  they  stand,  I  repeat,  that  they  are  not  to  be  read 
in  that  orcbv-— but  that  the  thread  of  the  history  is  to  be 
pursued  from  Nehemlah  to  the  first  book  of  the  Macca- 
bees, in  the  Apocrypha  ;  taking  care  to  observe  the  chro- 
nology regularly,  by  referring  to  the  Index,  which  sup- 
plies the  deficiencies  of  this  history  from  Josephus's  Anti- 
quities of  the  Jews.  The  first  of  Maccabees  carries  on  the 
story  till ,  within  195  years  of  our  Lord's  circumcision: 
The  second  book  is  the  same  narrative,  written  by  a  dif- 
ferent hand,  and  does  not  bring  the  history  so  forward  as 
the  first ;  so  that,  it  may  be  entirely  omitted,  unless  you 
have  the  curiosity  to  read  some  particulars  of  the  heroic 
constancy  of  the  Jews,  under  the  tortures  inflicted  by  their 
heathen  conquerors,  with  a  few  other  things  not  mention- 
ed in  the  first  book. 

49.  You  must  then  connect  the  history  by  the  help  of 
the  Index,  which  will  give  you  brief  heads  of  t&i  changes 
that  happened  in  the  state  of  the  Jews,  from  this  time  till 
the  birth  of  the  Messiah... 

50.  The  other  books  of  the  Apocrypha,  though  not  ad- 
mitted as  of  sacred  authority,  have  many  things  well  worth, 
your   attention  ;  particularly  the  admirable    book  called 
Ecclesiasticus,  and  the  book  of  Wisdom.     Bvit,  in   the 
course  of  reading  which  i  advise,  these  must  be  omitted 
till  after  you   have  gone  through   the  Gospels  and  Acts, 
that  you  may  not  lose  the  historical  thread. 

Of  the  Ne*iv-T€stament*  which  is  constantly  tv  be  referred  to 
a®  the  Rule  ar.  I  Conduct. 

51."T1TTE  come  now  <o  thst  part  of  scripture,  which  is 

V  V    the  most  important  of  all,  and  which  you  \ 
make  your  constant  study,  not  only  till  you  are  there , 
A  a  2 


282      The  Yvung  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

acquainted  with  it,  but  all  your  life  long  ;  because,  how 
often  soever  repeated,  it  is  impossible  to  read  the  life  and 
death  of  our  blessed  Saviour,  without  renewing  and  in- 
creasing in  our  hearts  that  love  and  reverence,  and  grat- 
itude towards  him  which  is  so  justiy  due  for  all  he  did  and 
suffered  for  us  !  Every  word  that  fell  from  his  lips  is  more 
precious  than  all  the  treasures  of  the  earth  ;  for  his  "  are 
UK-  words  of  eternal  life  !"  They  must  therefore  be  laid 
up  in  your  heart,  and  constantly  referred  to,  on  all  occa- 
sions, as  the  rule  and  direction  of  all  your  actions  ;  partic- 
ularly those  very  comprehensive  moral  precepts  he  has 
graciously  left  with  us,,  which  can  never  fail  to  direct  us 
aright,  if  fairly  and  honestly  applied  :  such  as,  "  whatso- 
ever you  would  that  men  should  do  unto  you,  even  s©  c!0 
unto  them." — There  is  no  occasion  great  or  small,  on 
which  you  may  not  safely  apply  this  rule  ibr  the  direc- 
tion of  your  conduct  :  and,  whilst  your  heart  honestly  ad- 
heres to  it,  you  can  never  be  guilty  of  any  sort  of  injustice 
«r  unkintlness. 

52.  The  two  great  commandments,  which  contain  the 
summary  of  our  duty  to  God  ami  man,  are  no  less  easil/ 
retained,  and  made  a  standard  by  which  to  judge  our  owa 
hearts-^-"  To  love  the  Lord  our  God,  with  all  our  hearts, 
with  all  our  minds,  with  all  our  strength  ;   and  our  neigh.- 
toor  (or  fellow  creature)   as  ourselves," — "  Love  worketh 
DO  ill  to  his  neighbor."     Therefore,  if  you  have  true  be- 
Bevolence,  you  will  never  do  any  thing  injurious  to  indi- 
viduals, or  to  society. 

53.  Now,  all  crimes  whatever,  are  (in  their  remoter 
consequences  at  least,  if  not  immediately  and  apparently) 
injurious  to  the  society  in  which  we  live.     It  is  impossible 
to  love  GoJ  without  desiring  to  please  him,  and,   as  far  as 
\ve  are  able  to  resemble   him  >  therefore  the  love  of  God 
must  lead  to  every  virtue  in  the  highest  degree  ;  and  we 
jnay  be  sure  we  do  not  truly  love  him,  if  we  content  our- 
Selves  with  avoiding  flagrant  sins,  and  do  not  strive  in  good 
earnest,  to  reach  the  greatest  degree  of  perfection  we  are 
capable  of*     Thus  do   those   few  words  direct  us  to  the 
highest  Christian  virtue.     Indeed,  the  whole  tenor  of  the 
Gospel  is  to  offer  us  every  help,  direction,    and  motive, 
that  can  enable  us  to  attain  that  degree  of  perfection  on 
T/hich  depends  our  eternal  good* 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT,  28 

Of  the  Example  set  by  our  Saviour ,  a?id  his  Character* 


54.  "T  1C  THAT  an  example  is  set  before  us.  in  our  blessed 
V  V  Master  !  how  is  his  whole  life,  from  earliest 
youth,  dedicated  ta  the  pursuits  of  true  wisdom,  and  to 
the  practice  of  the  most  exalted  virtue  I  When  you  see 
him,  at  twelve  years  of  age,  in.  the  temple  amongst  the 
doctors,  hearing  them  and  asking  them  questions  on  the 
subject  of  religion,  and  astonishing  them,  all  with  his  un- 
derstanding and  ans.wers~-you  will  say,  perhaps—"  Well 
Blight  the  Son  of  God,  even  at  those  years,  be  far  wiser 
than  the  aged  ;  but,  can  a  mortal  child  emulate  such  heav- 
enly wisdom  ?  Can  such  a  pattern  be  proposed  to  rny 
imitation  ?"— -yes  certainly  ;-~-re  member  that  he  has  be-» 
queathed  to  you  his  heavenly  wisdom  as  far  as  concerns 
your  own  good.  He  has  left  you  such  declarations  of  his 
v.ill,  and  of  the  consequences  of  your  actions,  as  you  are 
even  now>  fully  able  to  understand,  if  you  will  but  attend 
to  theni.  If  then  you  will  imitate  his  zeal  for  knowledge^ 
if  you  will  delight  in  gaining  information  and  improve- 
ment, you  may  even  now  become  "  wise  unto  salvation," 

$5.  Unmoved  by  the  praise  he  acquired  amongst  thesQ 
learned  men,  you  see  him  meekly  return  to  the  subjection 
of  a  child,  under  those  who  appeared  to  be  his  parents, 
though  he  was  in  reality  their  Lord  :  you  see  him  return 
to  live  with  them,  to  work  for  them,  and  to  be  the  joy 
and  solace  of  their  lives,;  till  the  time  came,  when  he  wa$ 
to  enter  on  that  scene  of  public  action,  for  which  his  heav- 
enly Father  had  sent  him  from  his  own  right  hand,  to  take, 
upon  him  the  form  of  a  poor  carpenter's  son. 

56.  What  a  lesson  of  humility  is  this,  and  of  obedience 
to  parents,  !— ^When  having  received  the  glorious  testimoT 
ny  from  heaven*  of  his  being  the  beloved  Son  of  the  Most 
High,  ht  enters  oit  his  public  ministry  ;  what-  an  examT 
pie  does  he  eive  us,  of  the  most  extensive  and .  constant 
benevolence  !— -  how  are  i:ll  his  hours  spent  in  doing  eood 
to  th<t  souls  and  bodies  of  men  ! — not  the  nv ••  r.n<»st  sinner 
is  below  his  notice  :^-to  reclaim  and  save  them,  he  COUT 


284      The  Ymtng  Gentfe-man  and  Lat$y*s  MONITOR, 

descends  to  converse  familiarly  with  the  most  corrupt  as 
well  as  the  most  abject,  All  his  miracles  are  wrought  to 
benefit  mankind  ;  not  one  to  punish  and  afflict  them.  In- 
stead of  using  that  almighty  power  which  accompanied 
him,  to  the  purpose  of  exalting  himself,  and  treading  down 
his  enemies,  he  makes  no  other  use  of  it  than  to  heal  and 
to  save. 

57.  When  you  come  to  read  of  his  sufferings  and  death, 
the  ignominy  and  reproach,  the  sorrow  of  mind,  and  tor- 
ment of  body,  which  he  submitted  to — when  you  consid- 
er, that  it  was  all  for  our  sakes — "  that  by  his  stripes  \ve 
are  healed" — and  by  his  death  we  are  raised  from  destruc- 
tion to  everlasting  life — what  can  I  say   that  can  acid  any 
thing  to  the  sensations  you  must  then  feel .  ?  No  power  c£ 
language  can  make  the   scene  more  touching  than  it  ap- 
pears in  the  plain  and  simple  narrations  of  the  Evangel- 
ists.    The  heart  that  is  unmoved  by  it,  can  be   scarcely 
human  ;  but  the  emotions  of  tenderness  and  compunction, 
which  almost  every  one  feels  in  reading  this  account,  will 
be  of  no  avail,  unless  applied   to  the  true  end — unless  it 
inspires  you  with  a  sincere    and  warm    affection   towards 
your   blessed  Lord — with   a  firm  resolution  to  obey   his 
commands  j — to  be   his   faithful   disciple — and    ever  re- 
nounce and  abhor  those  sins,   which  brought  mankind  un- 
der divine  condemnation,  and  from  which  we  have  been 
redeemed  at  so  dear  a  rate. 

58.  Remember  that  the  title  of  Christian,  or  follower  of" 
Christ,  implies  a  more  than  ordinary  degree  of  holiness- 
and    goodness.     As   our  motives  to  virtue   are   stronger 
than  those  which   are   afforded  to  the  rest  of  mankind, 
our  guilt  will   be    proportionably   greater  if  we  depait 
from  it. 

59.  Our  Saviour  appears  to  have  had  three  great  pur- 
poses in  descending  from  his  glory,  and  dwelling  amongst 
men.     The   first  to  teach  them  true  virtue,   both  by  his 
example   and  precepts  .  The  second  to  give  them   the 
most  forcible  motives  to  the  practice  of  it,  by  "  bringing 
life    and  immortality  to    light  ;"    by  showing  thf;m   the 
certainty  of  a  resurrection  and  radgment,  and  the  abso- 
lute necessity  of  obedience  to  God's  laws.     The  third,  to 
sacrifice  himself  for  us,  to  obtain  by  his  death  the  remis- 
sion of  our  sins  taponuur  repentance  and  reformation}  and 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  285 

the  power  of  bestowing  on  his  sincere  followers,  the  in* 
estimable  gift  of  immortal  happiness. 


comparative  View  of  the  B-sssed  and  Cursed  at  the  la?« 
and  the  Inference  to  be  drawn  from  it. 


60.  TIC  THAT  a  tremendous  scene  of  the  last  day  does 
V  V  the  gospel  place  before  our  eyes  1 — of  that 
day  when  you,  and  every  one  of  us  shall  awake  from  th« 
grave,  and  behold  the  Son  of  God,  on  his  glorious  tri- 
bunal, attended  by  millions  of  celestial  beings,  of  whose 
superior  excellence  we  can  now  form  no  adequate  idea— -• 
When,  in  presence  of  all  mankind,  of  those  holy  angels, 
and  of  the  great  Judge  himself,  you  must  give  an  account 
of  your  past  life,  and  hear  your  final  doom,  from  which 
there  can  be  no  appeal,  and  which  must  determine  your 
fate  to  all  eternity  :  then  think — if  for  a  moment  you 
can  bear  the  thought — what  will  be  the  desolation,  shame, 
and  anguish  of  those  wretched  souls,  who  shall  hear  these 

dreadful  words,- •'<  Depart  from  me,    ye  cursed,    into 

everlasting  fire,  prepared  for  the  devil  and  his  angels." 
• — Oh  ! — I  cannot  support  even  the  idea  of  your  becoming 
one  of  those  undone,  lost  creatures  ! — I  trust  in  God's 
mercy,  that  you  will  make  a  better  use  of  that  knowledge 
of  his  -will  which  he  has  vouchsafed  you,  and  of  these  ami- 
able dispositions  he  has  given  you. 

61.  Let  us  therefore  turn  from  this  horrid,  this  in- 
supportable view — and  rather  endeavor  to  imagine,  -as 
far  as  is  possible,  what  will  be  the  sensations  of  your  soul, 
if  you  shall  hear  our  heavenly  Judge  address  you  in  these 
transporting  words—"  Come  thou  blessed  of  roy  Father, 
inherit  the  kingdom  prepared  for  you,  from  the  founda- 
tion of  the  world," — Think,  what  it  must  he,  to  become 
.•an  object  of  the  esteem  and  applause — not  only  of  all 
mankind  assembled  together — but  of  all  the  host  of  hea- 
ven, of  our  blessed  Lord  himself — nay,  of  his  and  our 
Almighty  Father  :— to'  find  your  frail  flesh  changed  in  a 
moment  into  a  glorious  celestial  body,  endowed  with  a 
perfect  beauty,  health,  and  agility  ;— to  find  your  soul 
/•cd  from  all  its  fa-;.,..  ;  infirmities  ;— exs-' 


:8o      The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

the  purest  and  noblest  affections  overflowing  with  divine 
love  and  rapturous  gratitude  ! — to  have  your  understand- 
ing enlightened  and  refined  ;  your  heart  enlarged  and 
purified  ;  and  every  power,  and  disposition  of  mind  and 
body,  adapted  to  the  highest  relish  of  virtue  and  hap- 
piness ! — Thus  accomplished,  to  be  admitted  into  the 
society  of  amiable  and  happy  beings,  all  united  in  the  most 
perfect  peace  and  friendship,  all  breathing  nothing  but 
love  to  God,  and  to  each  other  ; — with  them  to  dwell  in 
scenes  more  delightful  than  the  richest  imagination  can 
paint — free  from  every  pain  and  care,  and  from  all  possi- 
bility of  change  or  satiety  : — but,  above  all  to  enjoy  the 
more  immediate  presence  of  God  himself — to  be  able  to 
comprehend  and  admire  his  adorable  perfections  in  a 
high  degree,  though  still  far  short  of  their  infinity — to  be 
conscious  of  his  love  and  favor,  and  to  rejoice  in  the  light 
of  his  countenance  ! 

62.  But  here    all  imagination  fails  :— we  can  form  no 
idea  of  that  bliss  which  may  be  communicated  to  us  by- 
such  a  near  approach  to  the  Source  of  all  beauty  and  all 
£ood  :-— we  must  content  ourselves  with  believing,  "  that 
4<  it  is   what   mortal  eye   hath  not  seen,   nor  ear  heard, 
"  neither  hath  it  entered  into  the  heart  of  man   to  con- 
"  ceive."     The   crown   of  all  our  joys  will  be,   to   know 
that  we  are  secure  of  possessing  them  for  ever — what  a 
transporting  idea  ! 

63.  Can   you  reflect  on  all  these  things*  and  not  feel 
the  most  earnest   longings  after  immortality  ?  Do  not  all 
other  views   and  desires  seem  mean   and  trifling,   when 
compared  with  this  ? — And  does  not  your   inmost  heart 
resolve,   that  this   shall  be   the  chief  and   constant  object 
of  its  wishes   and  pursuit,  through   the    whole  course  of 
your  life  ? 

64.  If  you  are  not  insensible  to  that  desire  of  happi- 
ness which  seems  woven  into  our  nature,  you  cannot  surely 
be  unmoved,  by  the  prospect  of  such  a  transcendant  degree 
of  it  ;   and  that — continued  to  all  eternity — perhaps  con- 
tinually  increasing.     You  cannot  but  dread  the  forfeit- 
ure of  such   an    inheritance  as  the  most  insupportable 
evil  ! — Remember  then — remember   the    conditions    on 
which  alone  it  can  be  obtained.     God  will    not   give  to 
vice,  to  carelessness,  or  sloth,  the  prize  he  has  proposal 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  267 

to  virtue.  You  have  every  help  that  can  animate  your 
endeavors.— You  have  written  laws  to  direct  you — the  ex- 
ample of  Christ  and  his  disciples  to  encourage  you — • 
the  most  awakening  motives  to  engage  you — and,  you 
have  besides,  the  comfortable  promise  of  constant  assist- 
ance from  the  Holy  Spirit,  if  you  diligently  and  sin- 
cerely pray  for  it.  Oi  let  not  all  this  mercy  be  lost 
upon  you— but  give  your  attention  to  this  your  only  im- 
portant concern,  and  accept  with  profound  gratitude, 
the  inestimable  advantages  that  are  thus  affectionately 
offered  you. 

65.  Though  the  four  gospels  are  each  of  them  a  nar- 
ration of  the  life,  sayings,   and  death  of  Christ  ;  yet  as 
they  are  not  exactly  alike,  but  some  circumstances  and 
sayings  omitted  in  one,  are  recorded  in  another,  you  must 
make  yourself  perfectly  master  of  them  all. 

66.  The  Acts  of  the  holy  Apostles,  endowed  with  the 
Holy  Ghost,  and  authorized  by  their  divine  Master,  come 
next  in  order  to  be  read.     Nothing  can  be  more  interest- 
ing and  edifying,  than  the  history  of  their  actions — of  the 
piety,  zeal,    and  courage,  with  which  they  preached  the 
glad  tidings  of  salvation,  and  of  the  various  exertions  of 
the  wonderful  powers  conferred  on  them   by  the  Holy 
Spirit  for  the  confirmation  of  their  mission. 


Character  of  St.  Paul. 


67.  ^  I  ^HE  character  of  St.  Paul,  and  his  miraculous 
JL  conversion,  demand  your  particular  attention  : 
most  of  the  apostles  were  men  of  low  birth  and  education  ; 
but  St.  Paul  was  a  Roman  citizen  ;  that  is,  he  possessed 
the  privileges  annexed  to  the  freedom  of  the  city  of  Rome, 
which  was  considered  as  a  high  distinction  in  those  coun- 
tries that  had  been  conquered  by  the  Romans.  He  was 
educated  amongst  the  most  learned  sect  of  the  Jews,  and 
by  one  of  their  principal  doctors.  He  was  a  man  of  ex- 
traordinary eloquence,  as  appears  not  only  in  his  writings, 
but  in  several  speeches  in  his  own  defence  pronounced  be- 
fore governors  arid  courts  of  justice,  when  he  was  called 
to  account  for  the  doctrines  he  taught. 


238       The  Young  Gentleman  and  l^ady's 

68.  He  seems  to  have  been  of  an  uncommonly  warm 
temper,  and  zealous  in  whatever  religion    he  professed : 
this  zeal,  before  his  conversion,  showed  itself  in  the  most 
unjustifiable    actions,   by  furiously  persecuting    the  inno- 
cent   Christians:   but  though  his   actions  were   bad,  we 
may   be    sure    his   intentions   were  good  ;  otherwise   we 
should  not  have  seen  a  miracle  employed  te  convince  him 
of  his  mistake,  and  to  bring  him  into  the  right  way. 

69.  This  example  may  assure  us  of  the  mercy  of  God 
towards    mistaken  consciences,   and    oughts  to   inspire  us 
with  the    most   enlarged  charity    and  good  will   towards 
those  whose  erroneous  principles  mislead  their  conduct  : 
instead  of  resentment  and  hatred  against  their  persons,  we 
eught  only  to  feel  an  active  wish  of  assisting  them  to  find 
the  truth,  since  we  know  not  whether,  if  convinced,  they 
might  not  prove,  like  St.  Paul,  chosen  ves&cio  to  promote 
the  honor  of  God,  and  of  true  religion. 

70.  It  is  not  now  my  intention  to   enter  with  you  into 
any  of  the  arguments  for  the  truth  of  Christianity,  other- 
wise it  would  be  impossible  wholly  to  pass  over  that  which 
arises    from   this  remarkable   conversion,  and  which  has 
been  so   admirably  illustrated  by   a  nobler  writer,   whose 
iract  on  this  subject  is  in  every  body's  hands. 

Of  the  Epistles. , 

Ti.  "^TEXT  follow  the  Epistles,  which  make  a  very  im- 
JJ\  portant  part  of  the  New-Testament ;  and  you 
r.annot  be  too  much  employed  in  reading  them.  They 
contain  the  most  excellent  precepts  and  admonitions  $ 
and  are  of  particular  use  in  explaining  more  at  large  sev- 
eral doctrines  of  Christianity,  which  we  could  not  so  fully 
comprehend  without  them. 

72.  There  are  indeed  in  the  Epistles  of  St.  Paul,  many 
passages  hard  to  be  understood  :  such  in  particular  are 
the  first  eleven  chapters  to  the  Romans  ;  the  greater 
part  of  his  Epistles  to  the  Corinthians  and  Galatians  ;  and 
.several  chapters  of  that  to  the  Hebrews.  Instead  of  per- 
plexing yourself  with  these  more  obscure  passages'  of 
scripture,  I  would  wish  you  to  employ  your  attention 
chiefly  on  those  that  are  plain;  and  .  to  judge  >£>f  the 
doctrines  taught  in  the  other  parts,  by  comparing  then* 


and  English  Tt  ack er's  ASSISTANT. 

\vith  what  you  find  in  these.  It  is  through  the  neglect  of 
this  rule,  that  many  have  been  led  to  draw  the  most  absurd 
doctrines  from  the  holy  scriptures. 

73.  Let   me  particularly   recommend  to  your  careful 
perusal,  the  xii.  xiii.  xiv.  and  xv.  chapters  of  the  Epis- 
tle to  the  Romans.     In  the  xiv.  chapter,    St.  Paul  has 
in  view  the  difference  hetween  the  Jewish  and  Gentile  (or 
Heathen)  converts  at  that  time  ;  the  former  were  dispos- 
ed to  look  with  horror  on  the  latter,  for  their  impiety  in 
not  paying  the  same  regard  to  the  distinctions  of  days  and 
meats  that  they  did  ;  and  the  latter  on  the  contrary,  were 
inclined  to  look  with  contempt  on  the  former,  for  their 
weakness  and  superstition. 

74.  Excellent  is  the  advice  which  the  Apostle  gives  to 
both  parties  ;  he  exhorts  the  Jewish  converts  not  to  judge, 
and  the  Gentiles  not  to  despise  ;  remembering  that  the 
kingdom  of  Heaven  is  not  meat  and  drink,  but  righteous- 
ness and  peace,  and  joy  in  the  Holy  Ghost. 

75.  Endeavor   to  conform  yourself  to  this  advice  ;  to 
acquire  a  temper  of  universal  candor  and  benevolence  ; 
and  learn  neither  to  despise  nor  condemn  any  person:  on 
account  of  their  particular  modes  of  faith  and  worship  : 
remembering  always  that  goodness  is  confined  to  no  par- 
ty— that   there  are  wise  and  worthy  men  among  all  the 
sects  of  Christians— and  that  to  his  own  master  every  one 
must  stand  or  fall. 

76.  I  will  enter  no  farther  into  the  several  points  dis- 
cussed by  St.  Paul  in  his  various  epistles — most  of  them, 
are  too  intricate  for  your  understanding  at  present,  and 
many  of  them  beyond  my  abilities  to  state  clearly,     i  will 
only    again   recommend  to  you,    to  read  those  passages 
frequently,  which,  with  so  much  fervor  and  energy,  excite 
you  to  the  practice  of  the  most  exalted  piety  and  benevo- 
lence.    If  the  effusions  of  a  heart,  warmed  with  the  ten- 
Merest  affection  for  the  whole  human  race — if  precept, 
warning,  encouragement,  example,  urged  by  an  eloquence 
which  such  affection  only  could  inspire,  are  capable  of  in- 
fluencing your  mind — you  cannot  fail  to  find,  in  such  parts 
of  his  epistles  as  are  adapted  to  your  understanding,  the 
strongest  persuasives  to  every  virtue  that  can  adorn  and 
improve  your  nature. 

B  b 


290      The  Young  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR, 

The  Epistle  of  St.  James. 

77«  HPHE  epistle  of  St.  James  is  entirely  practical, 
JL  and  exceedingly  fine  ;  you  cannot  study  it  too 
much.  It  seems  particularly  designed  to  guard  Chris- 
tians against  misunderstanding  some  things  in  St.  Paul's 
writings,  which  have  been  fatally  perverted  to  the  en- 
couragement of  a  dependance  on  faith  alone  without  good 
works.  But,  the  more  rational  commentators  will  tell 
you,  that  by  the  works  of  the  law,  which  the  apostle  as- 
serts to  be  incapable  of  justifying  us,  he  means  not  the 
works  of  moral  righteousness,  but  the  ceremonial  works 
of  the  Mosaic  law  ;  on  which  the  Jews  laid  the  greatest 
stress  as  necessary  to  salvation.  But  St.  James  tells  us, 
that  u  if  any  man  among  us  seem  to  be  religious,  and 
Heth  not  his  tongue,  but  deceiveth  his  own  heart, 
4  that  man's  religion  is  vain  ;" — and  that  "  pure  religion, 
44  and  undefiled  before  God  and  the  Father,  is  this,  to 
*  visit  the  fatherless  and  widow  in  their  aiHiction,  and  to 
"  keep  himself  unspotted  from  the  world.'1  Faith  in 
Christ,  if  it  produce  not  these  effects^  he  declareth  is  dead 
or  of  no  power. 

The  Epistles  of  St.  Peter  >  and  the  first  of  St.  John. 

73.  npHE  Epistles  of  St.  Peter  are  also  full  of  the  best 
JL  instructions  and  admonitions,  concerning  the 
relative  duties  of  life  ;  amongst  which  are  set  forth  the 
duties  of  women  in  general,  and  of  wives  in  particular. 
Some  part  of  his  second  epistle  is  prophetical ;  warning 
the  Church  of  false  teachers,  and  false  doctrines,  which 
should  undermine  morality,  and  disgrace  the  cause  of 
Christianity. 

,79.  The  £rst  of  St.  John  is  written  in  a  highly  figu- 
rative style,  whieh  makes  it  in  some  parts  hard  to  be  un- 
derstood ;  but,  the  spirit  of  divine  love  which  it  so  fer- 
vently expresses,  renders  it  highly  edifying  and  delightful. 
That  love  of  God  and  of  man,  which  this  beloved  Apos- 
tle so  pathetically  recommends,  is  in  truth  the  essence  of 
religion*  as  our  Saviour  himself  informs  us. 


and  English  Teacher's  ASSISTANT.  2  9  i 

Of  the  Revelations. 

80.  HpHE  book  of  Revelations  contains  a  prophetical 
JL  account  of  most  of  the  greater  events  rela- 
ting to  the  Christian  church,  which  were  to  happen  from 
the  time  of  the  writer,  St.  John,  to  the  end  of  the  world. 
Many  learned  men  have  taken  a  great  deal  of  pains  to 
explain  it  ;  and  they  have  clone  this  in  many  instances 
very  successfully  :  but,  I  think,  it  is  yet  too  soon  for 
you  to  study  this  part  of  scripture  ;  some  years  hence, 
perhaps  there  may  be  no  objection  to  your  attempting  it, 
and  taking  into  your  hands  the  best  expositions  to  assist 
you  in  reading  such  of  the  most  difficult  parts  of  the  New- 
Testament  as  you  cannot  now  be  supposed  to  understand. 
May  Heaven  dirict  you  in  studying  this  sacred  volume,  and 
render  it  the  means  of  making  you  wise  unto  salvation  ! 
May  you  love  and  reverence,  as  it  deserves,  this  blessed 
and  valuable  book,  which  contains  the  best  rule  of  life', 
the  clearest  declaration  of  the  will  and  laws  of  the  DeityV 
the  reviving  assurance  of  favor  to  true  penitents,  and  the 
unspeakably  joyful  tidings  of  eternal  life  and  happiness  to 
all  the  truly  virtuous  through  Jesus  Christ,  the  Saviour 
and  deliverer  of  the  world. 


True  Devotion  productive  of  the  truest  Pleasure* 

l."V/rOU  see  that  true  devotion  is  not  a  melancholy 
X  sentiment,  that  depresses  the  spirits  and  excludes 
the  ideas  of  pleasure,  which  youth  is  so  fond  of  ;  on  the 
contrary,  there  is  nothing  so  friendly  to  joy,  so  productive 
of  true  pleasure,  so  peculiarly  suited  to  the  warmth  and 
innocence  of  a  youthful  heart.  Do  not  therefore  think 'it 
too  soon  to  turn  your  mind  to  God  ;  but  offer  him  the 
first  fruits  of  your  understanding  and  affections  : .  and,  be 
assured,  that  the  more  you  increase  in  love  to  him,  and 
delight  in  his  laws,  the  more  you  will  increase  in  happi- 
ness, in  excellence  and  honor : — that,  in  proportion  as 
you  improve  in  true  piety,  you  will  become  clear  and  ami- 
able to  your  fellow  creatures  :  contented  and  peaceable 
in  yourself,  and  qualified  to  enjoy  the  best  blessings  of 
this  life,  as  well  as  to  inherit  the  glorious  promise  of 
ira  mortality. 


292      T7ie  Ycung  Gentleman  and  Lady's  MONITOR. 

2.  Thus  far  I  have  spoken  of  the  first  principles  of  all 
religion  :  namely,   belief  in  God,  worthy  notions  of  his 
attributes,    and  suitable    affections  towards  him — which 
will  naturally  excite  a  sincere  desire  of  obedience.     But 
before  you  can  obey  his  will,   you  must  know  what  that 
will  is  ;  you  must  inquire  in  what  manner  he  has  declared 
it,  and  where  you  may  find  those  laws,  which  must  be  the 
rule  of  your  actions. 

3.  The   great  laws  of  morality  are  indeed  written  in 
our  hearts,  and  may  be  discovered  by  reason  ;  but  our 
reason  is  of  slow  growth,  very  unequally  dispensed  to  dif- 
ferent persons  ;  liable  to  error,  and  confined  within  very 
narrow  limits  m   all.     If,  therefore,  God  has  vouchsafed 
to  grant  a  particular  revelation  of  his  will — if  he  has  been 
so  unspeakably  gracious  as  to  send  his  Son  into  the  world, 
to  reclaim  mankind  from  error  and  wickedness— -to  die  for 
our  sins — and  to  teach  us  the  way  to  eternal  life — surely  it 
becomes  us  to  receive  his  precepts  with  the  deepest  reve- 
rence ;  to  love  fcnd  prize  them   above  all  things  ;  and  to 
study  them  constantly,  with  an  earnest  desire  to  c 

our  thoughts,  our  words  and  actions,  to  them. 


A  Mcrning  Prayer  Jbr  a  young  Student  at   School,  orjl;' 
the  cvrtixion  U^e  cfa  Schccl. 

T^ATHER  cf  ALL  !  we  return  thce  most  humble  and 
JP  hearty  thanks-  for  thy  protection  of  us  in  the  night 
season,  and  for  the  refreshment  of  our  souls  and  bodies, 
in  the  sweet  repose  of  skep.  Accept  also  our  unfeigned 
gratitude  for  all  thy  mercies  during  the  helpless  age  of 
infancy. 

Continue,  we  beseech  thee,  to  guard  us  under  tli; 
shadow  of  thy  wing.  Our  age  is  tender,  and  our  nature 
frail,  and  without  the  influence  of  thy  grace,  we  shall 
surely  fall. 

Let  that  influence  descend  into  our  hearts,  and   t 
us  to  love  thee  and  truth  above  all  things.     O  guard  our 
hearts  from  the  temptations  to  deceit,  and  grant,  that  wo 
may  abhor  H  lye  as  a  sin  and  as  a  disgrace. 

Inspire  us  also  with  an  abhorrence  of  the  loathso 


and  Engli&h  2 lacker's  ASSISTANT.  293 

of  vice,  and  the  pollutions  of  sensual  pleasure.  Grant  at 
the  same  time,  that  we  may  early  feel  the  delight  of  con- 
scious purity,  and  wash  our  hands  in  innocency,  from  the 
united  motives  of  inclination  and  of  duty. 

Give  us,  O  thou  Parent  of  all  knowledge,  a  love  of 
learning,  and  a  taste  for  the  pure  and  sublime  pleasures 
of  the  understanding.  Improve  our  memory,  quicken  our 
apprehension,  and  grant  that  we  may  lay  up  such  a  store 
of  learning  as  may  fit  us  for  the  station  to  which  it  shaii 
please  thee  to  call  us,  and  enable  us  to  make  great  advan- 
ces in  virtue  and  religion,  and  shine  as  lights  in  the  world* 
by  the  influence  of  a  good  example. 

Give  us  grace  to  be  diligent  in  our  studies,  and  that 
whatever  we  read,  we  may  strongly  mark,  and  inwardly 
digest  it. 

Bless  our  parents,  guardians  and  instructors  ;  and 
that  we  may  make  them  the  best  return  in  our  po\vi 
giving  us  opportunities  of  improvement,   and  for  all 
care  and  attention  to   our  welfare.     They  ask  no  n 
but  that  we  should  make  use  of  those  opportunities,  t.nd 
co-operate   with   their  endeavors— »O  grant  that  we  may 
«ever  disappoint  their  anxious  expectations. 

Assist  us  mercifully,  O  Lord,  that  we  may  immediately 
engage  in  the  studies  and  duties  of  the  day,  and  go  tLrop 
them  cheerfully,  diligently  and  successfully. 

Accept  our  endeavors,  and  pardon  our  defects,  through 
the  merits  of  our  blessed  Saviour,  Jesus  Christ  our  Lord, 
Amen. 

Jin  Evening  Prayer* 

ALMIGHTY  God  !  again  we  approach  thy  mercy 
seat,  to  offer  unto  thee  our  thanks  and  praises  for 
the  blessings  and  protection  afforded  us  this  day  ;  and 
humbly  to  implore  thy  pardorn  for  our  manifold  trans- 
gressions. 

Grant  that  the  words  of  various  instruction  which  we 
have  heard  or  read  this  day,  may  be  so  inwardly  grafted 
in  our  hearts  and  memories,  as  to  bring  forth  the  fruits  of 
learning  and  virtue. 

Grant  that  as  we    recline  on  our  pillows,  we  may  call 
to  mind  the  transactions  of  the  day,  condemn  those  things 
B  b  2 


294      The  Young  Gentleman  and  Ladifa  MONITOR:, 

of  which  our  conscience  accuses  us,  and  make  and  keep 
resolutions  of  amendment. 

Grant  that  thy  holy  angels  may  watch  over  us  this 
night  and  guard  us  from  temptation,  excluding  all  im- 
proper thoughts,  and  filling  our  breasts  with  the  purest 
sentiments  of  piety.  Like  as  the  hart  panteth  for  the 
water  brook,  so  let  our  souls  thirst  for  thee,  O  Lord,  and 
for  whatever  is  excellent  and  beautiful  in  learning  and 
behavior. 

Correct,  by  the  sweet  influence  of  Christian  charity,  the 
irregularities  of  our  temper,  and  restrain  every  tendency, 
to  ingratitude,  and  to  ill  usage  of  our  parents,  teachers, 
pastors,  and  masters.  Teach  us  to  know  the  value  of 
a  good  education,  and  to  be  thankful  to  those  who  labor  in. 
the  improvement  of  oar  minds  and  morals.  Give  us 
grace  to  be  reverent  to  our  superiors,  gentle  to  our  equate 
or  inferiors,  and  benevolent  to  all  mankind.  Elevate  and 
enlarge  our  sentiments,  and  let  all  our  conduct  be  regu- 
lated by  right  reason,  by  Christian  charity,  and  attended 
with  that  peculiar  generosity  of  mind  which  becomes  a, 
liberal  scholar  and  a  sincere  Christian. 

O  Lord,  bestow  upon  us  whatever  may  be  good  for  ur 7 
even  though  we  should  omit  to  pray  for  it  ;  and  avert 
whatever  is  hurtful,  though  in  the  blindness  of  our  hearts, 
we  should  wish  for  it. 

Into  thy  hands  then  we  resign  ourselves,  as  we  retire  to 
rest,  hoping  by  thy  mercy  to  rise  again  with  renewed 
spirits,  to  go  through  the  business  of  the  morrow,  and  ta 
prepare  ourselves  for  this  life,  and  for  a  blessed  immortal- 
ity ;  which  We  ardently  hope  to  attain,  through  the  mer- 
its and  intercession  of  thy  Son.  our  Saviour,  Jesus 
our  Lord. 


APPENDIX, 


Of  Columbus,  and  th?  Disco-very  of  Amzrit&. 

PT  is  to  the  discoveries  of  the  Portuguese  in  the  old 
world,,  that  we  are  indebted  for  the  new,  if  we  may 
call  the  conquest  of  America  an  obligation,  which  proved 
so  fatal  to  its  inhabitants  and  at  times  to  the  conquerors 
themselves. 

2.  This   was  doubtless  the  most  important  event  that 
ever  happened  on  our  globe,  one  half  of  which  had  beea 
hitherto  strangers  to  the  other.     Whatever  had  been  es- 
teemed most  great  or  noble  before,  seemed    absorbed  in 
this  kind  of  new  creation.     We  still  mention  with  respect- 
ful admiration,  the  names,  of  the  Argonauts,  who  did  noe 
perform  the  hundredth'part  of  what  was  done  by  the  sailors 
under  Gama  and  Albuquerque*,    How  many  altars  would 
have  been  raised  by  the  Ancients  to  a  Greek  who  had  dis- 
covered America  !  and  yet  Bartholomew  and  Christopher 
Columbus  were  not  thus  rewarded. 

3.  Columbus,  struck  with  the  wonderful  expeditic; 

the  Portuguese,  imagined  that  something  greater  might 
be  done  ;  and  from  a  bare  inspection  of  the  map  of  our 
world,  concluded  that  there  must  be  another,  which  might. 
be  found  by  sailing  always  west.  He  had  courage  equal 
to  his  genius,  or  indeed  superior,  seeing  he  had  to  struggle 
with  the  prejudices  of  his  contemporaries,  'and  the  repulses 
of  several  princes  to  whom  he  tendered  his  service^ 

4.  Genoa,  which   was  hia  native  country,  treated  his 
schemes  as  visionary,  and  by  that  means,  lost  the  only 
opportunity  that  could  have  offered  of  aggrandizing   her 
power.     Henry  VII.  king  of  England,  who  was  too  gree- 
dy of  money  to  hazard  any  on  this  noble  attempt,  would 
not  listen  to  the  proposals  made  by  Cclumbus's  brother  ; 
and  Columbus  himself  was   rejected  by  John  II.  of  Por- 
tugal,  whose  attention  was  wholly  employed  upon  the 
coast  of  Africa,    He  had  no  prospect  of  success  in  ap~ 


296  APPENDIX. 

plying  to  the  French,  whose  marine  lay  totally  neglect- 
ed, and  their  affairs  more  confused  than  ever,  during  the 
minority  of  Charles  VIII.  The  emperor  Maximilian  had 
neither  ports  for  shipping,  money  to  fit  out  a  fleet,  nor  suf- 
ficient courage  to  engage  in  a  scheme  of  this  nature. 
The  Venetians,  indeed,  might  have  undertaken  it ;  but 
whether  the  natural  aversion  of  the  Genoese  to  these  peo- 
ple, would  not  suffer  Columbus  to  apply  to  the  rivals  of 
his  country,  or  that  the  Venetians  had  no  idea  cf  any 
thing  more  important  than  the  trade  they  carried  on  from 
Alexandria  and  in  the  Levant,  Columbus  at  length  fixed 
all  his  hopes  on  the  court  of  Spain. 

5.  Ferdinand  king  of  Arragon,  and  Isabella,  queen  of 
Castile,  had  by  their  marriage  united  all  Spain  under  one 
dominion,  excepting  only  the  kingdom  of  Granada,  which 
•was  still  in  the  possession  of  the  Moors  ;  but  which  Ferdi- 
nand soon  after  took  from  them.    The  union  of  these  two 
princes  had  prepared  the  way  for  the  greatness  of  Spain, 
which  was  afterwards  begun  by  Columbus  ;  he  was  how- 
ever obliged  to  undergo  eight  years  of  incessant  applica- 
tion, before  Isabella's  court  would  consent  to  accept  of  the 
inestimable  benefit  this  great  man  offered  it.     The  bane 
of  all  great  objects  is  the  want  of  money.     The  Spanish 
court  was  poor  ;  and  the  prior  Perez,  and  two  merchants 
named  Pinzono,  were  obliged  to  advance  seventeen  thou- 
sand ducats  towards  fitting  out  the  armament.  Columbus 
procured  a  patent  from   the  court,  and  at  length  set  sail 
from  the  port  of  Palos,  in  Andalusia,  with  three  ships,  on 
August  23,  in  the  year  1492. 

6.  It  was  not  above  a  month  after  his  departure  from 
the  Canary  islands,  where  he  had  come  to  an   anchor  to  , 
get  refreshment,  when  Columbus  discovered  the  first  isl- 
and in  America  ;  arid  during  this  short  run,  he  suffered 
more  from  the  murmurings  and  discontent  of  the  people 
of  his  fieet,  than  he  had  done  even  from  the  refusals  of 
the  princes  he  had  applied  to.     This  island,  which  he  dis- 
covered and    named  St.  Salvador,  lies  about  a  thousand 
leagues  from  the  Canaries  :  presently  after  he  likewise 
discovered  the  Lucayan  Islands,   together  with  those  of 
Cuba  and  Hispaniola,  now  called  St.  Domingo. 

7.  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  were  in  the  utmost  surprise 
to  see  him  return  at  the  end  of  nine  months,  with  some  cf 


A  P  P  E  N  D  I  X.  297 

the  American  natives  of  Hispaniola,  several  rarities  from 
that  country,  and  a  quantity  of  gold  with  which  he  pre- 
sented their  majesties. 

8.  The  king  and  queen  made  him  sit  down  in  their 
presence  covered  like  a  grandee  of  Spain,  and  created  him 
high  admiral  and  viceroy  of  the  new  world.     Columbus 
was  now  every  where  looked  upon  as  an  extraordinary 
person  sent   from  heaven.     Every  one  was  vying  who 
should  be    foremost  in  assisting  him  in  his  undertakings 
and  embarking   under   his   command.     He  soon  set  sail 
again,  with  a  fleet  of  seventeen  ships.     He  now  made  the 
discovery  of  several  other  new  islands,  particularly  the 
Caribees  and  Jamaica.     Doubt  had  been  changed  into  ad- 
miration   on    his  first  voyage  ;  in  this,  admiration   wi.s 
turned  into  envy. 

9.  He  was  admiral  and  viceroy,    and  to  these  titles 
might  have  been  added  that  of  the  benefactor  of  Ferdi- 
nand and  Isabella.     Nevertheless,  he  was  brought  home 
prisoner  to  Spain,  by  judges  who  had  been  purposely  sent 
out  on  board  to  observe  his  conduct.     As  soon  as  it  was 
known  that  Columbus  .was  arrived,  the  people  ran  in  shoals 
to  meet  him,  as  the  guardian  genius  of  Spain.    Columbus 
was  brought  from  the  ship,  and  appeared  on  shore  chain- 
ed hands  and  feet. 

10.  Ke  had  been  thus  treated  by  the  orders  of  Foi»r€£, 
bishop  of  Burgos,  the  infe~nei»wt  c.f  the  expedition,  whose 
ingratitude  was  as  great  as  the  other's  services.     Isabella 
\vas  ashamed  of  what  she  saw,  and  did  ail  in  her  power  id 
make   Columbus   amends  for    the  injuries    done    him  ; 
however,  he  was  not  suffered  to  depart  for  four  years,  ei- 
ther because  they  feared  that  he  vcuid  seize  upon  what  he 
had  discovered  for  himself,    or  that  they   were  willing  U> 
have  time  to  observe  his  behavior.    At  length  he  was  sent 
on  another  voyage   to  the   new  world  ;  and  now  it  was, 
that  he  discovered  the   continent,  at  six  degrees  distance 
from  the  equator,  and  saw  that  part  of  the  coast  on  which 
Carthagena  has  been  since  built. 

11.  At  the  time  that  Columbus  first  promised  a  new 
hemisphere,   it  was  insisted  on   that  no  such  hemisphere 
could  exist ;  and  after  he  had  made  the  actual  discovery  of 
it,  it  was  pretended  that  it  had  been  known  jong  be  for*. 

12.  I   shall-  not  Eaeudon  cne  Mania  Bchem,  of  Nu- 


298  APPEND  IX. 

remberg,  who,  it  is  said,  went  from  that  city  to  the 
straights  of  Magellan  in  1460,  with  a  patent  from  the 
Duchess  of  Burgundy,  who,  as  she  was  not  alive  at  that 
time,  could  not  issue  patents.  Nor  shall  I  take  notice  of 
the  pretended  charts  of  this  Martin  Behem,which  are  still 
shown  ;  nor  of  the  evident  contradictions  which  discredit 
thia  story  ;  but,  in  short,  it  was  not  pretended,  that  Mar- 
tin Behem  had  peopled  America  ;  the  honor  was  given 
to  the  Carthagenians,  and  a  book  of  Aristotle  was  quoted 
on  the  occasion,  which  he  never  wrote.  Some  found  out 
a  conformity  between  some  words  in  the  Caribee  and  He- 
brew languages,  and  did  not  fail  to  follow  so  fine  an  open- 
ing. Others  were  N positive  that  the  children  of  Noah, 
after  settling  in  Siberia,  passed  from  thence  over  to  Canada 
on  the  ice,  and  that  their  descendants,  afterwards  born 
in  Canada,  had  gone  and  peopled  Peru.  According 
to  others  again,  the  Chinese  and  Japanese  sent  colonies 
into  America,  and  carried  over  lions  with  them  for  their 
diversion,  though  there  are  no  lions  either  in  China  or 
Japan. 

13.  In  this  manner  have  many   learned  men  argued 
upon  the  discoveries  made  by  men  of  genius.  If  it  should 
be  asked,  how  men  first  came  upon  the  continent  of  Amer- 
ica ?  Is  it  not  easily   answered,  that  they  were  placed 
there  by  the  same  power  who  causes  trees  and  grass  to 
grow  ? 

14.  The  reply  which  Columbus  made  to  some  of  those 
\vho  envied  him  the  high  reputation  he  had  gained,  is  still 
famous.     These  people  pretended  that  nothing  could  be 
more  easy  than  the  discoveries  he  had  made  ;  upon  which 
he  proposed  to  them  to  set  an  egg  upright  on  one  of  its 
ends  ;  but  when  they  had  tried  in  vain  to  do  it,  he  broke 
one  end  of  the  egg  and  set  it  upright  with  ease.     They 
told  him  any  one  could  do  that  :  How  comes  it  then,  re- 
plied Columbus,  that  not  one  among  you  thought  of  it  ? — 
This  story  is  related  of  Brunelleschi,  who  improved  archi- 
tecture at  Florence  many  years  before  Columbus  was  born. 
Most  bon  mots  are  only  the  repetition  of  things  that  have 
been  said  before. 

15.  The  ashes  of  Columbus  cannot  be  affgcted  •  by  the 
Mtion   he    gained   while   living,   in   having   doubled 

for  us  the  works  of  the  creation.    Bat  mankind  delight 


APPENDIX.  299 

to  do  justice  to  the  illustrious  dead  either  from  a  vain  hope 
that  they  enhance  thereby  the  merit  of  the  living,  or  that 
they  are  naturally  fond  of  truth. 

16.  Americo  Vespucci,  whom  we  call  Americus  Ves~ 
pusius,  a  merchant  of  Florence,  had  the  honor  of  giving 
his  name  to  this  new  half  of  the  globe,   in  which  he  did 
not  possess  one  acre  of  land,  and  pretended  to  be  the  first 
who  discovered  the    continent.     But  supposing  it   true, 
that  he  was  the  first  discoverer,  the  glory  was  certainly 
due  to  him  who  had  the  penetration  and  courage  to  un- 
dertake and    perform  the  first  voyage  :  Honor,  as  New- 
ton says  in  his  dispute  with  Leibnitz,  is  due  only  to  the 
first  inventor  ;  and  those  that  follow  after  are  only  his 
scholars- 

17.  Columbus  had  made  three  voyages  as  admiral  and 
viceroy,  five  years  before  Americus  Vespusius  had  made 
one  as  a  geographer,  under  the  command  of  admiral  Oje- 
da  ;  but  this  latter,  writing  to  his  friends  at  Florence  that 
lie  had  discovered  a  new  world,  they  believed  him  on  his 
word,  and  the  citizens  of  Florence  decreed,  that  a  grand 
illumination  should  be  made  before  the  door  of  his  house 
every  three  years,  on  the  feast  of  All  Saints.     And  yet, 
rould  this  man  be  said  to  deserve  any  honors,  for  happen- 
ing to  be  on  board  a  fleet  that,  in  1489,  sailed  along  the 
coast  of  Brazil,  when  Columbus  had,   five  years  before, 
pointed  out  the  way  to  the  rest  of  the  world  ? 

18.  There   has   lajtely  appeared  at  Florence,  a  life  of 
this  Americus  Vespusius,  which  seems  to  be  written  with 
very  little  regard  to  truth,   and  without  any  conclusive 
reasoning.     Several  French  authors  are  there  complain- 
ed of,  who  have  done  justice  to  Columbus's  merit  ;  but 
the  writer   should  not   have  fallen  upon  the  French  au- 
thors,  but   on  the  Spanish,  who  were  the   first  that  did 
this  justice.     This  writer  says,  that  "  he  will  confound 
".  the  vanity  of  the  French  nation,  who  have  always  at- 
"  tacked   with  impunity  the  honor  and  success  of  the 
u  Italian  nation." 

19.  What  vanity  can  there  be  in  saying,  that  it  was 
a  Genoese  that  first  discovered  America  ?  or  how  is  the 
honor  of  the  Italian  nation  injured   in  owning,  that   it 
was  to  an  Italian,  born  in  Genoa,  that  we  are  indebted 
for  the  new  world?  I  purposely  remark  this  want   of 


500  APPENDIX. 

equity,  good  breeding  and  good  sense,  as  we  have  too 
many  examples  of  it  :  and  I  must  say,  that  the  good 
French  writers  have  in  general  been  the  least  guilty  of  this 
insufferable  fault  ;  and  one  great  reason  of  their  being  so 
universally  read  throughout  Europe,  is  their  doing  justice 
to  all  nations. 

20.  The  inhabitants  of  these  islands,  and  of  the  conti- 
nent, were  a  new  race  of  men.     They  were  all  without 
beards,  and  were   as  much  astonished  at  the  faces  of  the 
Spaniards,  as  they  were  at  their  ships  and  artillery:  they 
at -"first  looked  upon  these  new  visitors  as  monsters  or  gods, 
who  had  come  out  of  the  sky  or  the  sea. 

21.  These  voyages,  and  those  of  the  Portuguese,  had 
now  taught  us  how  inconsiderable  a  spot  of  the  globe  our 
Europe  was,   and  what  an  astonishing  variety  reigns  in 
the  world.     Indostan  was  known  to  be  inhabited  by  a  race 
of  men  whose  complexions  were  yellow.     In  Africa  and 
Asia,  at  some  distance  from  the  equator,  there  had  been 
found  several   kinds  of  black  men  ;  and  after   travellers 
had  penetrated  into  America  as  far  as  the  line,  they  met 
with  a  race  of  people  who  were  tolerably  white.     The  na- 
tives of  Brazil  are  of  the  color  of  bronze.     The  Chinese 
still  appear  to  differ  entirely  from  the  rest"  of  mankind,  in 
the  make  of  their  eyes  and  noses;     But  what  is  still  to  be 
remarked  is,  that  into  whatsoever!  regions  these  various 
races  are  transplanted,  their,  complexions  never  change, 
unless  they  mingle  with  the  natives  of  the  country.     The 
mucous  membrane  of  the  negroes,  which  is  known  to  be 
of  a  black  color,  is  a  manifest  proof,  that  there  is  a  differ- 
ential principle  in  each  species  of  men,  as  well  as  plants. 

22.  Dependant  upon  this  principle,  nature  loas  formed 
the  different  degrees  of  genius,  and  the  characters  of  na- 
tions, which  are  seldom  known  to  change.  Hence  the 
negroes  are  slaves  to  other  men,  and  are  purchased  on  the 
coast  of  Africa  like  beasts,  for  a  sum  of  money  ;  and  the 
vast  multitudes  of  negroes  transplanted  into  our  Ameri- 
can colonies,  serve  as^slaves  under  a  very  inconsiderable 
number  of  Europeans.  Experience  has  likewise  taught 
us  how  great  a  superiority  the  Europeans  have  over  the 
Americans,  who  are  every  where  easily  overcome,  and 
have  not  dared  to  attempt  a  revolutution,  though  a  thou- 
sand to  cxx?  superior  :ln  numbers. 


APPENDIX,  331 

23.  This  part  of  America  was  also  remarkable  on  ac- 
count of  its  ammals  and  plants  which  are  not  to  be  found 
in  the  other  three  parts  of  the  world,    and  which  are  of 
so  great  use  to  us.     Horses,  corn  of  all  kinds,  and  i ran, 
were   not  wanting  in  Mexico  and  Peru,  and  among  the 
many    valuable  commodities  unknown  to  the  old  world, 
cochineal  was  the  principal,  and  was  brought  us  from  this 
country.     Its  use  in  dying  has  now  made  us  forg-v 
scarlet,  which  for  time  immemorial  had  been  the  only 
thing  known  for  giving  a  fine  red  color. 

24.  The  importation  of  cochineal  was  soon  succeeded 
by  that  of  indigo,  cacao,  vanille,  and  those  woods  which 
serve  for  ornament  and  medicinal  purposes,  particularly 
the  quinquina,  or  Jesuits  bark,  'which  is  the  only   specific 
against  intermitting  fevers.     Nature  has  placed  this  rem- 
edy in  the  mountains  of  Peru,  whilst  she  had  dispersed 
the  disease  it  cured  through  all  the  rest  of  the  world.  This 

..new  continent  likewise  furnished  pearls,  colored  stones, 
and  diamonds. 

25.  It  is  certain,  that  America  at  present  furnishes  the 
.meanest  citizen   of    Europe   with  his   conveniences   ?,ncl 

pleasures.     The  gold  and  silver  mines,  at  their  first  dis- 
covery, were  of  service  only  to  the  kings  of  Spain  and  the 
merchants;   the   rest  of  the   world  was  impoverished  by 
tnem,  for  the   great  multitudes  who  did   not  fellow  busi- 
ness found  themselves  possessed  of  a  very  small  quantity 
of  specie,  in  comparison  with  the  immense  sums  accumula- 
ted by  those,  who  had  the  advantage  of  the  first  discov- 
eries.    But   by  degrees  the   great   quantity   of  gold  and 
silver  which   was    sent    from   America,    was  dir1 
throughout  all  Europe,    and  by  passing  into  a  hi 
Lands,  the  distribution  is  become  more  equal. 
of  commodities  is  likewise  increased    in.  I, 
portion  to  the  increase  of  specie. 

26.  To  comprehend  ho\v  the  treasures  of  Am-: 

sed  from  tKe  possession  of  the  Spaniards  into  thr.i  of  :;•  Lu- 
nations, it  will  be  sufficient  to  consider  these  two  ihir,rs  • 
the  us«  which   Charles  V.  and  Philip  II.  rnsc! 
money;  and  the  manner  in  which  other  nations  ?.c 
a  share  in  the  mines  of  Peru. 

27.  The  emperor  Charles   V*  vrho  \vr>n  always  trave!- 

'   war,    necessarily  disperfed  a  great 
C  c 


APPENDIX. 

quantity  of  that  specie  which  he  received  from  Mexico 
and  Peru,  through  Germany  and  Italy.  When  he  sent 
his  son  Philip  over  to  England,  to  marry  queen  Mary,  and 
take  upon  him  the  title  of  king  of  England,  that  prince 
deposited  in  the  Tower  of  London,  twenty-seven  large 
chests  of  silver  in  .bars,  and  an  hundred  horse  loads  of  gold 
and  silver  coin.  The  troubles  in  Flanders,  and  the  in- 
trigues of  the  league  in  France,  cost  this  Philip,  according 
to  his  own  confession, .above  three  thousand  millions  of  li- 
vres  of  our  money. 

28.  The  manner  in  which  the  gold  and  silver  of  Peru 
is  distributed   amongst  all  the  people    of    Europe,     and 
from  thence  is  sent  to  the  East-Indies,  is  a   surprising, 
though  well  known  circumstance.  By  a  strict  law  enacted 
by  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  and  afterwards  confirmed  by 
Charles  V.    and  all  the  kings  of  Spain,  all  other  nations 
were  not  only  excluded  the  entrance  into  any  of  the  port* 
in  Spanish   America,  but  likewise  from  having  the  least 
share,  directly  or  indirectly,  in   the   trade  of  that  part  of 
ilie    world.     One   would   have  imagined,   that  this    law 
would  have  enabled  the  Spaniards  to  subdue  all  Europe  ; 
and  yet  Spain   subsists  only  by  the  continual  violation  of 
this  very  law.     It  can  hardly  furnish  exports  for  America 
lo  the  value  of  four  millions  ;  whereas  the  rest  of  Europe 
sometimes  send  over  merchandize  to  the  amount  of  near 

millions. 

29.  This  prodigious  trade  of  the  nations  at  enmity  or 
at  alliance  with  Spain,  is  carried  on  by  the  Spaniards  thenv 
selves,  who   are  always  faithful  in  their  dealings  with  in- 
dividuals, and  always  cheating  their  king.     The  Span- 
iards gave  no  security  to  foreign  merchants  for  tke  per^ 
forrnance  of  their  contracts  ;  a   mutual  credit,   without 
which  there  never  could  have  been  any  commerce,  sup- 
plies the  place  of  other  obligations. 

50.  The  manner  in  which  the  Spaniards  for  a  long 
lime  consigned  the  gold  c.nd  silver  to  foreigners,  which 
was  brought  home  by  their  galleons,  was  still  more  sur- 
prising. The  Spaniard,  who  at  Cadiz  is  properly  fac- 
tor for  the  foreigner,  delivered  the  bullion  he  received 
to  the  care  of  certain  bravoes,  called  meteors  :  these, 
armed  with  pistols  at  their  belt,  and  a  long  sword,  car- 
ried the  bullion  in  parcels,  properly  marked,  to  the 


APPENDIX.  30*1 

ramparts,  and  flung  them  over  to  other  meteors,  who 
waited  below,  and  carried  them  to  the  boats  which  were 
to  receive  them,  and  these  boats  carried  them  OP.  board 
the  ships  in  the  road.  These  meteors  and  the  factors, 
together  with  the  commissaries  and  the  guards,  \vho  never 
disturbed  them,  had  each  a  stated  fee,  and  the  foreign 
merchant  was  never  cheated.  The  king,  who  received  a 
duty  upon  this  money  at  the  arrival  of  the  galleons  was 
likewise  a  gainer  ;  so  that  properly  speaking,  the  law  only 
was  cheated  ;  a  law  which  would  be  absolutely  useless  if 
not  eluded,  and  which,  nevertheless,  cannot  yet  be  abro- 
gated, because  old  prejudices  are  always  the  most  dii 
to  be  overcome  amongst  men. 

31.  The  greatest  instance  of  the   violation  of  this   lav/, 
and  of  the   fidelity  of  the   Spaniards,   was   in   the   year 
1648,  when  war  was  declared  between  France  and  Spain, 
His  Catholic  Majesty  endeavored  to  seize  upon  the  effects 
6^  all  the  French  in  his  kingdom  ;  but  he  in  vain  issued 
edicts  and  admonitions,  inquiries  and  excommunications, 
not  a  single  Spanish  factor  would  betray  his  French  cor- 
respondent.     This  fidelity,  which  does  so  much  honor 
to    the  Spanish    nation,    plainly   shows,    that    men  only 
willingly   obey  those  laws,  which  they  themselves  have 
made  for  the  good  of  society,  and  that  those  which  are 
the  mere  effect  sofa  savereign's  will,   always  meet  with 
opposition. 

32.  As  the  discovery  of  America  was  at  first  the  source 
of  much  good  to  the  Spaniards,  it  afterwards  occasioned 
them  many  and   considerable  evils.     One  has  been,  the 
depriving  that  kingdom  of  its  subjects,  by  the  great  num- 
bers necessarily  required  to  people  the  colonies  :  another 
•was,  the  infecting  the  world   with  a  disease,  which  was 
before  known    only   in  the  new  world,  and  particularly  in 
the   island  of  Hispaniola.     Several  of  the  companions 
of  Christopher  Columbus  returned  home  infected  with 
this  contagion,   which   afterwards  spread  over  Europe. 
It  is  certain,  that  this  poison,  which  taints  the  springs  of 
life,  was  peculiar  to  America,  as  the  plague  and  small-pox 
were  diseases  originally  endemial  to  the  southern  parts  of 
Numidia. 

33.  We  are  not  to  believe,  that  the  eating  of  human 
flesh;  practised  by  some  of  the  American  savages,  occa.- 


••104  APPENDIX. 

4 

sion  this  disorder.  There  were  no  cannibals  on  the  island 
of  Hispaniola,  where  it  was  most  frequent  and  inveterate  i 
neither  are  \ve  to  suppose,  with  some,  that  it  proceeded 
from  too  great  an  excess  of  sensual  pleasures.  Nature 
had  never  punished  excesses  of  this  kind  with  such  disor- 
ders in  the  world  ;  and  even  to  this  day,  we  find  that  a 
momentary  indulgence,  which  has  been  passed  for  eight 
or  ten  years,  may  bring  this  cruel  and  shameful  scourge 
upon  the  chastest  union. 

34.  The  great  Columbus,    after  having  built  several 
Louses   on  these   islands,  and  discovered  the   continent, 
returned  to  Spain,  where  he  enjoyed  a  reputation,  unsul- 
lied by  rapine  or  cruelty,   and  died  at  Valadolid-in  15(36. 
But   the   Governors  of  Cuba  anil   Hispaniola,  who  suc- 
ceeded him,  being  persuaded  that  these  provinces  furnish- 
ed gold,  resolved  to   make  the  discovery  at   the  price  of 
the  lives  of  the    inhabitants.     In    short,   whether   they 
thought  the  natives   had  conceived   an  implacable  hatred 
co  them,  or  that  they  were  apprehensive  cf  their  superior 
numbers  ;  or  that  the  rage  of  slaughter,  when  once  begun 
knows  no  bounds,  they  in  the  space  cf  a  few  years  entirely 
depopulated   Hispaniola  and  Cuba,  the  former  of  which 
contained  three    millions    of  inhabitants,  and  the  latter 
ttbove  six  hundred  thousand. 

35.  Bartholomew  de   la  Cases.,  bishop  of  Ciapa,  who 
was  an  eye  witness  to  these  desolations,  relates  that  they 
hunted   dawn   the  natives   with   dogs.     These  wretched 
savages,  almost  naked   and   without  arms,   were  pursued 
like  wild  beasts  in  the  forest,  devoured  alive  by  clegs,  shot 
to  death,  or  surprised  and  burnt  in  their  habitations. 

56.  He  further  declares,  from  ocular  testimony,  that 
they  frequently  caused  a  number  of  these  miserable  wretch- 
es to  be  summoned  by  a  priest  to  come  in,  and  submit  to 
the  Christian  religion,  and  to  the  king  of  Spain,  and  thi-t 
after  this  ceremony,  which  was  only  an  additional  act  of 
injustice,  they  put  them  to  death  without  the  least  remorse. 
I  believe  that  de  la  Cases  has  exaggerated  in  many  pails 
of  his  relation  ;  but  allowing  him  to  have  said  ten  times 
more  than  is  truth,  there  remains  enough  to  nv. 
shudder  with  horror. 

37.  It  may  seem  surprising,  that  this  massacre  of  a 
whole  race  of  men  could   have  been  carried  on  i. 


APPENDIX.  305 

si^ht,  and  under  the  administration  of  several  religious  of 
the  order  of  St.  Jerome  ;  for  we  know  that  Cardinal  Xim~ 
enes,  who  was  prime  minister  of  Castile  Jje  fore  the  time 
of  Charles  V.   sent  over  four  monks  of  this  order,  in 
quality  of  presidents  of  the  royal  council  of  the  island- 
Doubtless  they  were  not  able  to  resist  the  torrent,  and  the 
hatred  of  the  natives  to  their  new  masters,  be 
just  reason  become  implacable,  rendered  their  d< 
unhappily  necessary. 


ROMULUS  the  founder  of  Rome,  after  building  the  city1)  re- 
solved'to  submit  the  form  of  its  government  to  the  choice  of 
the  people  :  and  therefore^  calling  the,  citizens  together,  h$ 
har-rangu-ed  them  thus, 

IF  all  the  strength  of  cities  lay  in  the:  height  of  their 
ramparts,  or  the  depth  of  their  ditches,  we  should  have 
great  reason  to  be  in  fear  for  that  which  we  have  now 
built.  Are  there  in  reality  any  wails  too  high  to  he  scaled 
by  a  valiant  enemy  ?  And  of  what  use  are  ramparts. in  in^ 
testine  divisions  ?  They  may  serve  for  a  defence  against 
sudden  incursions  from  abroad  :  But  it  is  by  courage  and 
prudence  chiefly,  that  the  invasions  of  foreign  enemies  are 
repelled  :  and  by  unanimity,  sobriety,  and  justice,  that, 
domestic  seditions  are.  prevented.  Cities  fortified  by  the 
strongest  bulwarks,  have  been  often  sten  to  yield,  to  force 
from  without,  or  to  tumults  from  within.  An  exact  mil- 
itary discipline,  and  a  steady  observance  of  civil  polity, 
are  the  surest  barriers,  against  these  evils.  But  there  is 
still  another  point  of  great  importance  to  be  considered* 
The  prosperity  of  some  rising  colonies,  and  the  speedy  ru- 
in of  others,  have  in  a  great  measure  been  owing  to  the 
form  of  government.  Was  there  but  one  manner  of  ruling 
states  and  cities  that  could  make  you  happy,  the  choice 
would  not  be  difficult  ;  but  I  have  learnt,  that  of  the  vari- 
ous forms  of  government  among  the  Greeks  and  Barbari- 
ans, there  are  three  which  are  highly  extolled  by  those 
who  |)k  ive  experienced  them  ;  and  yet,  that  no  one  in 
those  is  in  all  respects  perfect ;  but  each  of  them  has  some 
inaate  and  incurable  defect.  Choose  you  then  in  what 
C  c  2 


-06  A  P  P  K  N  D  I  X. 

manner  this  city  shall  be  governed.  Shall  it  it  be  by  one 
man  ?  Shall  it  be  by  a  select  number  of  the  wisest  among 
us  !  or  shall  the  legislative  power  be  in  the  people  ?  As 
ior  me,  I  shall  submit  to  whatever  form  of  administration 
you  shall  please  to  establish.  As  I  think  myself  not  un- 
worthy to  command,  so  neither  am  I  unwilling  to  obey. 
Your  having  chosen  me  to  be  the  leader  of  this  colony,  and 
your  calling  the  city  after  my  name,  are  honors  sufficient 
"to  content  me  ;  honors  of  which,  living  or  dead,  I  can 
never  be  deprived. 

While  Quinctius  Capitolinus  and  Agrippa  Furius  were 
Consuls  at  Rome,  the  difference  betwixt  the  Senate  and 
people  ran  so  high,  that  the  jEqui  and  Volsci,  taking  ad- 
vantage of  their  intestine  disorders,  ravagsd  the  country 
to  the  -very  gates  o/"Rome,  and  tte  Tribunes  of  the  profile 
forbad  the  necessary  levies  of  troops  to  oppose  them. — * 
Quinctius,  a  Senator,  of  great  reputation,  well  beloved, 
and  now  in  his  fourth  consulate,  got  the  better  of  this  oppo*. 
sition  by  the  following  speech. 

f^HOUGH  I  am  not  conscious,  O  Romans,  of  any 
JL  crime  by  rne  committed,  it  is  yet  with  the  utmost 
shame  and  confusion  that  I  appear  in  your  assembly.  You 
have  seen  it — -PosteFity  will  know  it.  In  the  fourth  con- 
sulship of  Titus  Quinctius,  the  -$lqui  and  Volsci  (scarce 
a  match  for  the  Hernici  alone)  came  in  arms  to  the  very 
gates  of  Rome,  and  went  away  unchastised  !  The  curse 
of  our  manners  indeed,  and  the  state  of  our  affairs,  have 
long  been  such,  that  I  had  no  reason  to  presage  much 
good  :  But  could  I  have  imagined  that  so  great  an  igno- 
miny would  have  befallen  me  this  year,  I  would  by  death 
•r  banishment  (if  all  other  means  had  failed)  have  avoid- 
ed the  station  I  am  now  in.  What !  might  Rome  then 
have  been  taken,  if  those  men  who  were  at  our  gates 
had  not  wanted  courage  for  the  attempt  !— Rome  taken 
Awhile  I  was  consul — rOf  honors  I  had  sufficient, — of  life 
enough) — more  than  enough. — I  should  have  died  in  my 
third  consulate.  But  who  are  they  that  our  dastardly 
enemies  thus  despise  !  The  consuls  or  you,  Rom  ,.  ?  If 
we  are  in  the  fault  depose  us,  or  punish  us  yet  more 
severely.  If  you  are  to  blame,  may  neither  God  ncr 


APPENDIX.  30Y 

man  punish  your  faults  !  only  may  you  repent.  No,  Ro- 
mans, the  confidence  of  our  enemies  is  not  owing  to  their 
courage,  or  to  their  belief  of  your  cowardice.  They  have 
been  too  often  vanquished,  not  to  know  both  themselves 
and  you.  Discord,  discord  is  the  ruin  of  this  city.  The 
eternal  disputes  between  the  senate  and  the  people,  are 
the  sole  cause  of  our  misfortunes.  While  we  set  no 
bounds  to  our  dominion,  nor  you  to  your  liberty  :  While 
you  impatiently  endure  Patrician  magistrates,  and  we 
Plebeian,  our  enemies  take  heart,  grow  elated  and  pre- 
sumptuous. In  the  name  of  the  immortal  Gods,  what  is 
it,  Romans,  you  would  have  ?  You  desired  tribunes  ;  for 
the  sake  of  peace  we  granted  them.  You  were  eager  to 
have  decemvirs,  we  consented  to  their  creation.  Yen 
grew  weary  of  these  decemvirs,  we  obliged  them  to  abdi- 
cate. Your  hatred  pursued  them  when  reduced  to  private 
men  ;  and  we  suffered  you  to  put  to  death,  or  banish* 
Patricians  of  the  first  rank  in  the  republic.  You  insisted 
upon  the  restoration  of  the  tribuneship,  we  yielded  ;  we 
quietly  saw  consuls  of  your  faction  elected.  You  have  the 
protection  of  your  tribunes,  and  the  privilege  of  appeal  ; 
the  Patricians  are  subjected  to  the  decrees  of  the  com- 
mons. Under  pretence  of  equal  and  impartial  laws,  you 
have  invaded  oui1  rights,  and  we  have  suffered  it,  and  we 
still  suffer  it.  When  shall  we  see  an  end  of  discord  ! 
When  shall  we  have  one  interest  and  one  common  coun- 
try ?  Victorious  and  triumphant,  you  show  less  temper 
than  we  under  defeat.  When  you  are  to  contend  with  ws, 
you  seize  the  Aventine  hill,  you  can  possess  yourselves  of 
the  IVIons  Saeer. 

The  enemy  is  at  our  gates,  the  ^Esquiline  is  near  being 
taken,  and  wobody  stirs  to  hinder  it.  But  against  us  you 
are  valiant,  against  us  you  can  arm  with  diligence.  Come 
on,  then,  besiege  the  senate  house,  make  a  camp  of  the  fo- 
rum, fill  the  jails  with  our  nobles,  and  when  you  have  at- 
chievecl  these  glorious  exploits,  then  at  last  saliy  out  at  the 
&sqtuline  gate,  with  the  same  fierce  spirits  against  the 
enemy.  Does  your  resolution  fail  you  for  this  ?  go  then, 
and  behold  from  your  wa^ls,  your  lands  ravaged,  your  hou- 
ses plundered  and  in  flames,  the  whole  country  laid  waste 
with  fire  and  sword.  Have  you  any  thing  here  to  repair 
these  damages  I  Will  the  tribunes  make  up  your  losses  to 


308  APPENDIX. 

you  !  They'll  give  you  as  many  words  as  you  please  :  Bring 
impeachments  in  abundance  against  the  prime  men  oif 
the  state  :  Heap  laws  upon  laws  ;,  assemblies  you  shall 
have  without  end.  But  will  any  of  you  return  the  richer 
from  these  assembles  ?  Extinguish,  O  Romans,  those  fa- 
tal divisions  ;  generously  break  this  cursed  enchantment 
which  keeps  you  buried  in  a  scandalous  inaction.-  Open 
your  eyes,  and  consider  the  management  of  these  ambi- 
tions men,  who,  to  make  themselves  powerful  in  their 
party,  study  nothing  but  how  they  may  foment  divisions 
in  the  commonwealth. 

If  you  can  but  summon  up  your  former  courage,  if  you 
will  now  march  out  of  Rome  with  your  consuls,  there  is 
no  punishment  you  can  inflict,  which  I  will  not  submit  to, 
if  I  do  not  in  a  few  days  drive  these  pillagers  out  of  our 
territory.  This  terror  ef  war  (with  which  you  seem  so 
grievously  struck)  shall  quickly  be  removed  from  Rome 
to  their  own  cities*. 

GAIUS  MARIUS  TO  THE  ROMANS. 

T  is  but  too  common,  my  country  men,  to  observe  a 
material  difference,  between  the  behavior  of  those, 
who  stand  candidates  for  places  of  power  and  trust,  be- 
fore, and  after  their  obtaining  them.  They  sDlicit  them 
in  one  manner  and.  execute  them  in  another.  They 
set  out,  with  a  great  appearance  of  activity,  humility, 
and  moderation  ;  and  they,  quickly,  fall  into  sloth,  pride 
and  avarice.— -It  is-  undoubtedly,  no  easy  matter,  to  dis- 
charge to  the  general  satisfaction,  the  duty  of  a  supreme 
commander  in  troublesome  tmies.  I  arn>  I  hope,  duly 
sensible  of  the  importance  of  the  office  I  propose  to  take 
upon  me  for  the  service  of  my  country*.  To  carry  on, 
with  effect,  an  expensive  war,  and  yet  be  frugal  of  public 
money  ;  to  oblige  those  to  serve,  whom  it  may  be  del- 
icate to  offend  ;  to  conduct,  at  the  same  time,  a  com- 
plicated variety  of  operations  ;  to  concert  measures  at 
home,  answerable  to  the  state  of  things  abroad  ;  and  to 
gain  every  valuable  end,  in  spite  of  opposition  from  the 
envious,  the  factious,  and  the  disaffected  ;  to  do  all  this, 
my  countrymen.)  is  more  difficult  than  is  generally 
thought* 


APPENDIX.  S09 

Ikit,  besides  the  disadvantages,  which  are  common  to 
/ith  all  otbeis  in  eminent  stations,  my  case  is,  in  this 
r  :spcct,  peculiarly  hard  ;  that,  whereas  a  commander 
of  Patrician  rank,  if  he  is  guilty  of  a  neglect,  or  breach  of 
duty,  has  his  great  connections,  the  antiquity  of  his 
family,  the  important  services  of  his  ancestors,  incl  the 
multitudes  he  has,  by  power  engaged  in  his  interest,  to 
screen  him  from  condign  punishment ;  my  whole  safety 
depends  upon  myself;  which  renders  it  the  more  indis- 
pensibly  necessary  for  me,  to  take  care  tha.t  my  conduct 
be  clear  and  unexceptionable.  Besides,  I  am  well  aware, 
7iiy  countrymen,  that  the  eye  of  the  public,  is  upon  me  ; 
and  that  though  the  impartial,  who  prefer  the  real 
advantage  of  the  commonwealth  to  all  other  considera- 
tions, favor  my  pretensions,  the  Patricians  want  nothing 
so  much,  as  an  occasion  against  me.  It  is,  therefore,  rny 
fixed  resolution,  to  use  my  best  endeavors>  that  you  may 
Kot  be  disappointed  in  me,  and  that  their  indirect  designs 
against  me  may  be  defeated. 

I  have  from  my  youth,  been  familiar  with  toils,  and 
with  dangers.  I  was  faithful  to  your  interests,  my  coun- 
trymen, when  I  served  you  for  no  reward,  tut  tl 
honor.  It  is  not  my  design  to  betray  you,  now  that 
you  have  conferred  upon  me  a  place  of  profit.  You  have 
committed  to  my  conduct,  the  war  against  Jugurtha. 
The  Patricians  are  offended  at  this.  But,  where  would 
be  the  wisdom  of  giving  such  a  command  to  or.e  of  their 
honorable  body  ?  a  person  of  illustrious  birth,  of  an- 
cient family,  of  innumerable  statute  but- — of  no  expe- 
rience !  What  service  would  his  Ion?  lin?  of  dec.d  an- 
cestors, or  his  multitude  of  motionless  statues,  c>o  his 
country  in  the  day  of  battle  1  What  covi'c/  s'ich  a  general 
do,  but,  in  his  trepidation  and  ine::perl  e  re- 

course to  some  inferior  commander,  for  direction  in 
ficuities  to  which  he  was  not  himself  equal  ?••  Thus,  your 
Patrician    general   would,  in  fact,   have   a   general   over 
him  ;   so  that  the  acting  commander  would  still  he  ;, 
beian.     So  true    is  this,    my    countrymen,    that  I  have 
myself  known  those,  who  have  been  chosen  consuls,  begin, 
then,  to  read  the  history  of  their  own  country,  of  -which, 
till  that  time,   they  were  totally  ignorant :  that  is,  they 
first  obtained  the  employment,  and  then  bethought  them- 


S16  APPENDIX. 

selves  of  the  qualifications  necessary  for  the  proper  dis- 
charge of  it. 

I  submit^  to  your  judgment,  Romans,  on  which  side 
the  advantage  lies,  when  a  comparison  is  made  between 
Patrician  haughtiness  and  Plebeian  experience.  The 
very  actions,  which  they  have  only  read,  I  have  partly- 
seen,  and  partly  myself  atchieved.  What  they  know  by 
reading,  I  know  by  action.  They  are  pleased  to  slight 
my  mean  birth.  I  despise  their  mean  characters.  Want 
of  birth  and  fortune  is  the  objection  against  me  :  want 
of  personal  merit  against  them.  But  are  not  all  men  of 
the  same  species  ?  What  can  make  a  difference  between 
one  man  and  another,  but  the  endowments  of  the  mind  j 
For  rny  part,  I  shall  always  look  upon  the  bravest  man 
as  the  noblest  man.  Suppose  it  were  inquired  of  the 
fathers  of  such  Patricians  as  Albinos  and  Bessia,  whether, 
if  they  had  their  .choice,  they  would  desire  sons  of  their 
character,  or  of  mine  :  what  would  they  answer,  but 
that  they  should  wish  the  worthiest  to  be  their  sons  ?  if 
the  Patricians  have  reason  to  despise  me,  let  them  like- 
wise despise  their  ancestors,  whose  nobility  was  the  fruit 
of  their  virtue.  Do  they  envy  the  honors  bestowed  upon 
me  ?  Let  them  envy,  likewise,  my  labors,  my  absti- 
nence, and  the  dangers  I  have  undergone  for  my  coun- 
try, by  which  I  have  acquired  them.  But  those  worthless 
men  lead  such  a  life  of  inactivity,  as  if  they  despised 
any  honors  you  can  bestow  ;  whilst  they  aspire  to  hon* 
ors,  as  if  they  had  deserved  them  by  the  most  indus- 
trious virtue.-  They  lay  claim  to  the  reward1  oi  activity, 
for  their  having  enjoyed  the  pleasures  of  h  ;  v  Yet 
none  can  be  more  lavish  than  they  are  in  pra  >f  their 
ancestors.  And  they  imagine  they  hone  selves, 

by  celebrating  their  forefathers.  Whereas  t...  do  the 
'very  contrary  :  for,  as  much  as  their  ancestor-  •••••re  dis- 
tinguished for  their  virtues,  so  much  are  they  di  u  -raced  by 
their  vices. 

Observe  now,  my  countrymen,  the  injustice  of  the 
Patricians.  They  arrogate  to  themselves,  honors,  0*1 
account  of  the  exploits  done  by  their  forefathers  ;  whilst 
they  will  not  allow  me  the  due  praise,  for  performing  the 
very  same  sort  of  actions  in  my  own  person.  He  has  no 
statues,  they  cry,  of  his  family.  He  can  trace  no  vene- 


A  P  P  E  N  D  I  X.  31  i 

.ra*ble  line  of  ancestors.  What  then  !  Is  it  matter  of  more 
praise  to  disgrace  one's  illustrious  ancestors,  than  to  be- 
come illustrious  by  one's  own  good  behavior  ?  What  if 
I  can  show  no  statues  of  my  family  ?  I  can  show  the 
standards,  the  armor,  and  the  trappings,  which  I  have 
myself  taken  from  the  vanquished  :  I  can  show  the  scars 
of  those  wounds  which  I  have  received  by  facing  the  en- 
emies of  my  country.  These  are  my  statues  :  These 
are  the  honors  I  boast  of.  Not  left  me  by  inheritance  as 
theirs  ;  but  earned  by  toil,  by  abstinence,  by  valor  ;  amidst 
clouds  of  dust,  and  seas  of  blood  :  scenes  of  action  where 
those  effeminate  Patricians,  who  endeavor,  by  indirect 
means,  to  depreciate  me  in  your  esteem,  have  never  dured 
to  show  their  faces* 

DEMOSTHENES  TO  THE  ATHENIANS.     * 

WHEN!  compare,  Athenians,  the  speeches  of  some 
amongst  us,  with  their  actions,  I  am  at  a  loss  to 
reconcile  what  I  see,  with  what  I  hear.  Their  protesta- 
tions are  full  of  zeal  against  the  public  enemy  ;  but  their 
measures  are  so  inconsistent,  that  all  their  professions  be- 
come suspected.  By  confounding  you  with  a  variety  of 
projects,  they  perplex  your  resolutions  ;  and  lead  you 
from  executing  what  is  in  your  power,  by  engaging  you 
in  schemes  not  reducible  to  practice. 

'Tis  true,  there  was  a  time,  when  we  were  powerful 
enough,  not  only  to  defend  our  own  borders,  and  protect 
our  allies,  but  even  to  invade  Philip  in  his  own  domin- 
ions. Yes,  Athenians,  there  was  such  a  juncture  ;  I  re- 
member it  well.  But,  by  neglect  of  proper  opportu- 
nities, we  are  no  longer  in  a  situation  to  be  invaders:  it 
will  be  weli  for  us,  if  we  can  procure  for  our  own  de- 
fence, and  our  allies.  Never  did  any  conjuncture  require 
so  much  prudence  as  this.  However,  I  should  not  despair 
of  seasonable  remedies,  had  I  the  art  to  prevail  with  you 
to  be  unanimous  in  right  measures.  The  opportunities, 
which  have  so  often  escaped  us  have  not  been  lost,  thro* 
ignorance,  or  want  of  judgment  ;  but  through  negligence 
or  treachery. — If  I  assume,  at  this  time,  more  than  ordi- 
nary liberty  of  speech,  I  conjure  you  to  suffer,  patiently, 
(hose  truths,  which  have  no  other  end,  but  your  own  good. 


APPENDIX. 

You  have  loo  many  reasons  to  be  sensible,  how  mut  •• 
have   suffered,  by  barkening  to    sychophants.     I  shali 
therefore,  be  plain,  in  laying  before  you  the  grounds  of 
past  miscarriages,  in  order  to  correct   you  in  your  future 
conduct. 

You  may  remember,  it  is  not  above  three  or  four  years, 
since  we  had  the  news  of  Philip's  laying  siege  to  the  for- 
tress of  Juno  in  Thrace.  It  was^as  I  think,  in  October 
we  received  this  intelligence.  We  voted  an  immediate 
supply  of  threescore  talents .:  forty  men  of  war  were  or- 
dered to  sea  :  and  so  zealous  we  were,  .that  preferring  the 
necessities  of  state  to  our  very  laws,  our  citizens  above  the 
age  of  iive-and- forty  years,  were  commanded  to  serve. 
What  followed  ? — A  whole  year  was  spent  idly,  without 
any  thing  done  ;  and  it  was  but  the  third  month  of  the 
following  year,  a  little  after  the  celebration  of  the  feast  of 
Ceres,  that  Charedemus  set  sail,  furnished  with  no  more 
than  five  talents,  and  ten  galleys  not  half  manned. 

A  rumor  was  spread,  that  Philip  was  sick.  That  ru- 
mor was  followed  by  another,  that  Philip  was  dead.  And, 
then,  as  if  all  danger  died  with  him,  you  dropped  your 
preparations:  whereas,  then,  then  was  your  time  to  push, 
and  be  active  ;  then  was  your  time  to  secure  yourselves, 
and  confound  him  at  once.  Had  your  resolutions,  taken 
with  so  much  heat,  been  as  warmly  seconded  by  action, 
you  had  then  been  as  terrible  to  Philip,  r*s  Philip,  recov- 
ered, is  now  to  you.  "  To  what  purpose  at  this  time, 
these  reflections  ?  What  is  done  cannot  be  undone."  But, 
by  your  leave,  Athenians,  though  past  moments  are  not 
to  be  recalled,  past  errors  may  be  repeated.  Have  we  not, 
now,  a  fresh  provocation  to  war-?  Let  the  memory  of 
oversights,  by  which  you  have  suffered  so  much,  instruct 
you  to  be  more  vigilant  in  the  present  danger.  If  the 
Olynthians  are  not  instantly  succored,  and  with  your  ut- 
most efforts,  you  become  assistants  to  Philip,  and  serve 
him  more  effectually,  than  he  can  help  himself. 

It  is  not  surely  necessary  to  warn  you,  tha't  votes 
alone,  can  be  of  no  consequence.  Had  your  resolutions, 
of  themselves,  the  virtue  to  compass  what  you  intend,  we 
should  not  see  them  multiply  every  dsy,  as  they  do, 
and  upon  every  occasion,  with  so  little;  effect:  nor  would 
Philip  be  in  a  condition  to 'brave  and  affront  us  in  thi& 


A  P  P  E  N  D  I  X.  313 

manner — Proceed,  then,  Athenians,  to  support  your  de- 
liberations with  vigor.  You  have  heads  capable  of  ad- 
vising' what  is  best  ;  you  have  judgment  and  experience, 
to  discern  what  is  right :  and  you  have  power  and  oppor- 
tunity, to  execute  what  you  determine.  What  time  so 
•proper  for  action  !  What  occasion  so  happy?  And  when 
can  you  hope  for  such  another,  if  this  be  neglected  ?  Kar, 
not  Philip,  contrary  to  all  treaties,  insulted  you  in  Thrace  i.' 
Does  he  not,  at  this  instant,  straiten  and  invade  your  con- 
federates, whom  yen  have  solemnly  sworn  to  protect  ?  Is 
iv.i  rot  an  implacable  enemy  ?  a  faithless  ally  ?  the  usur- 
per of  provinces,  to  which  he  has  no  title  nor  pretence  !' 
u  stranger,  a  barbarian,  a  tyrant  ?  and  indeed,  what  is 
jie  not  ? 

Observe,  I  beseech  you.  men  of  Athtns,  how  different 
your  conduct  appears,  from  the  practices  of  your  ancestors. 
They  were  friends  to  truth  and  plain  dealine;,  and  detested 
(h.Uery  and  servile  compliance.  By  unanimous  consent, 
ti'-ey  continued  arbiters  of  all  Greece,  for  the  space  of 
forty-five  years,  without  interruption  :  a  public  fund  .of 
no  less  than  ten  thousand  talents,  was  ready  for  any  em- 
ergency :  they  exercised  over  the  kings  cf  Macedon,  that 
authority  which  is  clue  to  barbarians  ;  obtained  both  by 
-sea  and  land,  in  their  own  persons,  frequent  and  signal 
•victories  ;  and  by  their  noble  exploits,  transmitted  to 
posterity,  an  immortal  memory  of  their  virtue,  superior  to 
the  reach  of  malice  and  detraction.  It  is  to  them  we  .owe 
4hat  great  number  cf  public  edifices,  by  which  the  city  Q£ 
Athens  exceeds  all  the  rest  of  the  world,  in  beauty  and 
magnificence.  It  is  to  them  we  owe  so  many  stately  tem- 
ples, so  richly  embellished  ;  but,  abo<.-. 
the  spoils  of  vanquished  enemies.  But,  visit  t 
private  habitations.  Vkit  the  houses  of  ArlstiJ.es.  Milkia- 
.(ies,  or  any  other  of  those  patriots  of  antiquity  ;  you  will 
find  nothing,  not  the  least  mark  of  ornament,  to  distinguish 
them  from  their  neighbors.  They  took  part  ir:  the  gov- 
ernment, r.ot  to  enrich  themselves,  but  the  public  ;  they 
had  no  schemes  or  ambition,  but  for  the  public  ;  nor  knew 
any  interest,  but  the  public.  It  was  by  a  close  and  steady 
application  to  the  general  i^ood  of  their  country  ;  1 
exemplary  piety  towards  the  in* mortal  p-oct:  • 
D  (! 


3H  APPENDIX. 

iU'tn,  -nd  religions  honesty,  betwixt -man  and  man  ;  arm 

lerat'On,   always  uniform,    and  of  a  piece  ;   they  es- 

:ied  that  reputation,  which  remains  to  this  clay,  and 
.  ill  last  to  utmost  posterity. 

;h,  O  men  of  Athens  !  were  your    ancestors  :   so 
n  the  eye  of  the 'world  ;   so  bountiful  and  mimi- 

to  their  country  ;   so  sparing,  so  modest,  so  self-de- 
rives.    What  resemblance  can  we  find  in 
the  present  generation,  of  these  great  men  ?   At  a  time, 
I    your   ancient   competitors   have   left   you   a    clear 
stage  ;   when  thy  Lacedemonians  are  disabled  ;   the  The- 
L::ns  employed  in  troubles  of  their  own  ;   when  no  other 
-tat ;   whatever   is  in  a   condition  to   rival  or  molest  you  : 
in  short,  when  you  are  at  full  liberty  :   when  you  have  the 
opportunity  and  the  power  to  become  once  more  the  sole 
arbiters  of  Greece  ;  you  permit,  patiently,  whole  provin- 
ces to  be  wrested  from  you  ;  you  lavish  the  public  money 
to  scandalous  and  obscure  uses  :  you  suffer  your  allies  to 
perish  in  time  of  peace,  whom   you  preserved  in  time  of 
v.ar  ;   and,  to  sum  up  all,  you  yourselves,  by  your  merce- 
luiry  court,   and  servile  resignation  to  the  will  and  plea- 
sure of  designing,  insidious  leaders,  abet,  encourage,  and 
strengthen    the  most   dangerous  and  formidable  of  your 
enemies.     Yes,  Athenians,  Ircpe.it  it,  you  yourselves  are 
of  your  own   ruin.     Lives   there  a  man 
:e   enough   to  deny  it  ?  Let  him  arise, 
issign,  if  he  can,  any  other  cause  of  the  success  and 

:-\ty    of   Philip.     "  But,   you    reply,   what    Athens 
may  have   lost  in  reputation   abr  has  gained   in 

splendor  at  home.  Was  there  ever  a  ereater  appear- 
ance-of  prosperity  ?  a  greater  face  cf  j.-knty  ?  Is  not  the 
city  enlarged  ?  Are  not  the  streets  better  paved  ?  houses 
repaired  and  beautified  ?"— Away  with  such  trifles  ' 
Shall  I  be  paid  with  counters  ?  An  old  square  new  vamped 
*ip  I  a  fountain  1  an  aqueduct  1  Are  these  acquisitions  to 
brag  of?  Cast  your  eye  upon  the  magistrate,  under 

3   ministry   you  boast  these  precious  i. 
•  M  the  despicable  creature,   raised   all  at  once,   from 
dirt,   to    opulence  ;    from  the   lowest   obscurity,    to   ths 

st  honor:-.     I  lav o  not  r.ome  of  these  up: 


A  F  P  E  N  D  I  X.  ! 

iheir  power  increased,  but  as  the  commonwealth  has  beui 
ruined  and  impoverished  ! 

To  what  are  we  to  impute  these  disorders  ?  and  to 
what  cause  assign  the  decay  of  a  state,  so  powerful  and 
flourishing  in  past  time  ? — The  reason  is  plain.  The 
servant  is  now  become  the  master.  The  magistrate  was 
then  subservient  to  the  people  :  punishments  and  rewards 
were  properties  of  the  people  :  all  honors,  .dignities*  and 
preferments,  were  disposed  by  the  voice  and  favor  of 
the  people.  But  the  magistrate,  now,  has  usurped  the 
right  of  the  people,  and  exercises  an  arbitrary  authority 
over  his  ancient  and  natural  lord.  You  miserable  people  ! 
the  mean  while,  without  money?  without  friends  ;  from 
being  the  ruler,  are  become  the  servant  j  from  being  the 
master,  the  dependant  ;  ,  into 

whose  hands  you  have  thus  u  -  ,  ^re 

so  good,  and  so  gracious,  as  to  continue  y 
ance  to  see  plays. 

Believe  me,  Athenians,  if  recovering  from  this  leihar- 
gy,  you  would  assume  the  ancient  fi-cedom  and  s] 
your  fathers  ;  if  you  would  be  your  own  soldiers,  and 
your  own  commanders,  confiding  no  longer  your  affairs  in 
foreign  or  mercenary  hands  ;  if  you  would  charge  your- 
selves with  your  own  defence,  employiiK"  abroad,  for  the 
public,  what  you  waste  in  unprofitable  at  home  ; 

the  world  might  once  more  behold  you  making  a  Satire 
worthy  of  Athenians.  "  You  would  have  us  then,  (you 
fcay)  do  service  in  our  armies,  in  our  own  persons  ;  and 
for  so  doing,  you  would  have  the  pensions  we  receive 
in  time  of  peace,  accepted  as  pay  in  time  of  wr>r.  Is  it 
thus  we  are  to  understand  you  ?" — Yes,  Athenians,  'tis 
my  plain  meaning.  I  would  make  it  a  standing  rule,  that 
no  person,  great  or  little,  should  be  the  better  for  the  pub- 
lie  money,  who  should  grudge  to  employ  it  for  the  public 
service.  Are  we  in  peace  ?  the  public  is  charged  with 
your  subsistence.  Are  we  in  war,  or  under  a  necessity,  as 
at  this  time,  to  enter  into  a  war  ?  let  your  gratitude  oblige 
you  to  accept,  as  pay,  in  defence  of  your  benefactors,  what 
you  receive*  in  peace,  &r>  ~cere  bounty.  Thus,  without 
any  innovation  ;  wither.;  anything, 

but  pernicious  novelties  (;ed  for   the   encourage- 

ment of  sloth  and  idleness  ;  by 


316  A  P  P  E  N  D  I  X. 

future,  the  sarr,e  funds,  for  the  use  of  the  serviceable, 
which  are  spent,  at  present,  upon  the  unprofitable  ;  you 
may  be  well  served  in  your  armies  ;  your  troops  regularly 
paid  ;  justice  duly  administered  ;  the  public  revenues  re- 
formed, and  increased  ;  and  every  member  of  the  com- 
monwealth rendered  useful  to  his  country,  according  to 
his  age  and  ability,  without  any  further  burthen  to  the 
state. 

This,  O  men  of  Athens  !  is  what  my  duty  prompted 
me  to  represent  to  you  upon  this  occasion — May  the 
gods  inspire  you  to  determine  upon  such  measures,  as  may- 
be most  expedient,  for  the  -particular  and  general  good  of 
our  country  ! 

THE  PERFECT  SPEAKER. 

TMAGINE  to  yourselves,  a  Demosthenes,  addressing 
JL  the  most  illustrious  assembly  in  the  world,  upon  ;i 
point,  whereon  the  fate  of  the  most  illustrious  of  nations 
depended. — How  awful  such  a  meeting  1  how  vast  the 
subject !  Is  man  possest  of  talents  adequate  to  the  great 
occasion  ?  Adequate — yes,  superior.  By  the  power  of 
his  eloquence,  the  augustness  of  the  assembly  is  lost,  in 
the  dignity  of  the  orator  ;  and  the  importance  of  the  sub- 
ject, for  a  while  superseded,  by  the  admiration  of  his  tal- 
ents.-—With  what  strength  of  argument,  with  whr.l 
ers  of  the  fancy,  with  what  emotions  of  the  heart,  does 
lie  assault  and  subjugate  the  whole  men,  EIK!  c.t  once, 
captivate  his  reason,  his  imagination,  and  his  passions  !— 
To  effect  this,  must  be  the  utmost  effort,  of  the  most 
improved  state  of  human  nature — Not  a  faculty  that  he 
possesses,  is  here  unemployed  :  not  a  faculty  that  ho 
possesses,  but  is  here  exerted  to  its  highest  pilch.  All 
his  internal  powers,  are  at  work  :  all  his  external  testify 
their  energies.  Within,  the  memory,  the  fancy,  the 
judgment,  the  passions  are  all  busy  :  without,  every  mus- 
cle, every  nerve,  is  exerted  ;  not  a  feature,  not  a  limb, 
but  speaks.  The  organs  of  the  body  attuned  to  ^  the 
exertions  of  the  mind,  through  the  kindred  organs  of  the 
hearers,  instantaneously,  and,  as  it  were,  with  an  elec- 
trical spirit,  vibrate  those  energies  from  soul  to  soul. — 
Notwithstanding  the  diversity  of  minds  in  such  a  mil  I- 


APPENDIX.  317 

Utacle,  by  the  lightning  of  eloquence,  they  are  melted  into 
one  mass — the   whole  assembly  actuated  in  one  and  the, 
same  way,  become  as  it  were,  but  one  man,  aru: 
one  voice.  The  universal  cry  is — LET  us  MARCH 

PHILIP LET     US    FIGHT    FOR   OUR    LIBERTIES—  . 

CONQUER OR   DIE    1 

On  the  duties  cf  Schc: 

fcUINTILLIAN  says,  that  he  has  included  9 

the  duty  of  scholars  in  this  one  piece  c  ,  hich 

he  gives  them,  to  love  those  who  l  love 

the  sciences  which  they  learn  of  them  ;  t.nd  lo  look  upon 
them  as  fathers,  from  whom  they  derive  not  the  life  of  the 
body,  but  that  instruction  which  h  ife  of 

the  soul.     Indeed  this  sentiment  ofj 
suffices  to  make  them  apt  to  learn   d-. 
their  studies,   and   full  of  rjrutitu.de  all  ih;  their 

lives.     It.  seems  to  me  to  include  a  .great  ;      I 
to  be  expected  from  them. 

Docility,  which  consists  in  submitting  to 
readily  receiving  the  instructions  of  their  n 
ducing  them  to  practice,  is  properly  the  vir', 
as  that  of  masters  is  to  teach  well..     Tivj  ohe  can  •. 
tiling  without  the  other  ;  and  as  it  is  not 
laborer  to   sow  the  seed,  unless   the  e! 
opened    its   bosom  to  receive    it,  in    a 
warms,    and  moistens  it  ;   so  likewise   the  who"; 
instruction  depends  upon  a  i^ood  correspondence  bcUveea 
the  masters  and  the  scholars. 

Gratitude  for  those  who  have  labored  in  our  educr; lion, 
is  the  character  of  an  honest  man,  and  the  mark  of  a 
good  heart.  Who  is  there  among  us,  says  Cicero,  that 
has  been  instructed  with  any  care,  that  is  not  highly  de- 
lighted with  the  sight  of  even  the  bave  r 
Lis  preceptors,  masters,  and  the  place 
taught  and  brought  up  ?  Seneca  eyhovts  y 
preserve  always  a  great  respect  forth'/: 
care  they  are  indebted  for  the  amende; 
;<nd  for  having  imbibed  sentiments  of  honor 
Their  exactness  and  severity  displease  fcoi 
gge  v»'hcn  we  are  not  in  a  condition  to  UK' 
D  d  2 


A  P  P  E  H  D  I  X. 

lions  we  owe  to  them  ;  but  when  years  have  vipenqd  our 
understanding  and  judgment,  we  then  discern  that  v/hat; 
made  us  dislike  them,  I  mean  admonitions,  reprimands, 
and  a  severe  exactness  in  restraining  the  passions  of  an 
imprudent  and  inconsiderate  age,  is  expressly  the  very 
thing  which  should  make  us  esteem  and  love  them.  Thus 
we  see  that  Marcus  Aurelius,  one  of  the  wisest  and  most 
illustrious  emperors  that  Rome  ever  had,]  thanked  thu 
gods  for  two  things  especially-— for  his  having  had  excel- 
lent tutors  himself,  and  that  he  had  found  the  like  for 
his  children. 

Quintiliian,  after  having  noted  the  different  characters 
of  the  mind  in  children,  draws  in  a  few  words,  the  image 
of  what  he  judged  to  be  a  perfect  scholar  ;  and  certainly 
it  is  a  very  amiable  one  :  "  For  my  part,"  says  he,  "  I 
like  a  child  who  is  encouraged  by  commendation,  is  an- 
imated by  a  sense  of  glory,  and  weeps  ween  he  is  out- 
done. A  noble  emulation  will  always  keep  him  in  exer- 
cise, a  reprimand  will  touch  him  to  the  quick,  and  honor 
\vill  serve  instead  of  a  spu~.  We  need  not  fear  that  such 
a  scholar  will  ever  give  himself  up  to  sullenne&s."  Mini 
ille  cletur  puer,  quern  laus  excitet,  quern  gloria  juvct,  qr,i 
virtus  fleat.  Hie  erit  alenclus  ambitu  :  hunc  mordebit 
objurgatio  ;  hunc  honor  excitabit :  in  hoc  desidium  nun- 
quam  verebor. 

How  ereat  a  value  soever  Quintillian  sets  upon  the  tal- 
ents of  the  mind,  he  esteems  those  of  the  heart  Jar  be- 
yond them,  and  looks  upon  the  others  as  of  no  value 
without  them.  In  the  same  chapter  from  whence  I  took 
the  preceding  words,  he  declares,  he  should  never  hav$ 
a  good  opinion  of  a  chikl,  who  placed  his  study  in  occa- 
sioning laughter,  by  mimicking  the  behavior,  mien,  and 
faults  of  others  ;  and  he  presently  gives  an  admirable 
reason  for  it  :  "A  child,"  says  he,  "  cannnot  be  truly 
ingenious,  in  rny  opinion,  unless  he  be  good  and  virtuous  ; 
otherwise,  I  should  rather  choose  to  have  him  dull  and 
heavy  than  of  a  bad  disposition."  Non  dabit  spem  bons 
indolis,  qui  hoc  imitandi  studio  petit,  ut  rideotmv  Nam 
probus  quoque  imprimus  erit  ille  vere  ingeniosus  :  alio- 
qui  non  pejus  duxerim  tardi  esse  inp;eniit  quam  mail. 

He  displays  to  us  all  these  talents  in  the  eldest  of  his 
two  children,  whose  character  he  draws,  and  w.hcse  ck?*h 


APPENDIX.  319 

he  laments  in  so  eloquent  and  pathetic  a  strain,  in  the 
beautiful  preface  to  his  sixth  book.  I  shall  beg  leave  to  in-* 
sert  here  a  small  extract  of  it,  which  will  not  be  useless  to 
the  boys,  as  they  will  find  it  a  model  which  suits  well  with 
their  age  and  condition. 

After  having  mentioned  his  younger  son,  who  died  at 
five  years  old,  and  described  the  graces  and  beauties  of  his 
countenance,  the  prettiness  of  his  expressions,  the  vivacity 
of  his  understanding,  which  began  to  shine  through  the 
veil  of  childhood  ;  "  1  had  still  left  me,"  says  he,  "  my 
sen  Quintillian,  in  whom  I  placed  all  rny  pleasure  and 
ail  my  hopes,  and  comfort  enough  I  might  have  found  in 
him  ;  for,  having  now  entered  into  his  tenth  year,  he 
did  not  produce  only  blossoms  like  his  younger  brother, 
but  fruits  already  formed,  and  beyond  the  power  of  dis- 
appointment.— I  have  much  experience  ;  but  I  never  saw 
in  any  child,  I  do  not  say  only  so  many  excellent  clipo- 
suions  for  the  sciences,  nor  so  much  taste,  as  his  masters 
know,  but  so  much  probity,  sweetness,  good  nature,  gen- 
tleness, and  inclination  to  please  and  oblige,  as  1  discern- 
ed in  him. 

u  Besides  this,  he  had  all  the  advantages  of  nature,  a 
charming  voice,  a  pleasing  countenance,  and  a  surprising- 
facility  in  pronouncing  well  the  two  languages,  as  if  he 
had  been  equally  born  for  both  of  them. 

"  But  all  this  was  no  more  than  hopes.  I  set  a  greater 
value  upon  his  admirable  virtues,  his  equality  of  temper, 
iiis  resolution,  the  courage  with  which  he  oore  up  against 
fear  and  pain  ;  for,  how  was  his  physicians  astonished  at 
his  patience  under  a  distemper  of  eight  months  continu- 
ance, when  at  the  point  of  death  he  comforted  me  himself, 
and  bade  me  not  to  weep  for  him  !  and  delirious  as  he 
sometimes  was  at  his  last  moments,  his  tongue  ran  of  no- 
thing else  but  learning  and  the  sciences  :  O  vain  and  de- 
ceitful hopes  I"  &c. 

Are  there  many  boys  amongst  us,  of  whom  we  can  truly 
s&y  so  much  to  their  advantage,  as  Quintillian  says  here 
of  his  son  ?  What  a  shame  would  it  be  for  them,  if  born 
and  brought  up  in  a  Christian  country,  they  had  not 
even  the  virtues  of  Pagan  children  !  I  make  no  scruple  to 
repeat  them  here  again — docility,  obedience,  respect  for 
their  masters,  or  rather  a  degree  of  atTection>  and  the 


320  APPENDIX. 

source  of  an  eternal  gratitude  ;  zeal  for  study,  and  a  won- 
derful thirst  after  the  sciences,  joined  to  an  abhorrence  of 
vice  and  irregularity  ;  an  admirable  fund  of  probity,  good- 
ness, gentleness,  civility  and  liberality  :  as  also  patience, 
courage,  and  greatness  of  soul  in  the  course  of  a  long  sick- 
ness. What  then  \vas  wanting  to  all  these  virtues  ?-— 
That  which  alone  could  render  them  truly  worthy  the 
name,  and  must  be  in  a  manner  the  soul  of  them,  and 
constitute  their  whole  v&I,ue,  the  precious  gift  of  faith  and 
piety  :  the  saving  knowledge  of  a  Mediator  ;  a  sincere 
desire  of  pleasing  God,  and  referring  all  our  actions  to 
him. 

TL  ICE  OF  A  RURAL  LIFE  * 

A  POEM. 

SCK  Gov.  of  N 


THE    ARGU: 
The  subject  firq 
fruga'iiij   .";;  i 

Ui8  love  of ,  retirement^  and  chi.ice  oft  '  •«     A  des~ 

en/  ''morning.   Hiniin  to  th?  sun*    C-yaicinhlaiion- 

of  the   heavens.      The  existence  of  God  inferred  j rom  a 
"view  of  the  beauty  and  harmony  of  the  creation.    looming 
and  evening  devotion.      The  vanity  of  riches  and  grand- 
eur.     The    choice  of  his   bocks.     Praise  cf  ihe  rn&> '> 
mi  ate.     si  knot  of  modern  l&dies  described*      Tr. 
exit, 

PHILOSOPHIC  SOLITUDE,  &c., 

IET  ardent  heroes  seek  renown  in  arms, 
_j  Pant  after  fame,  and  rush  to  war's  alarms  ; 
To  s, lining  palaces  let  fools  resort, 
And  dunces  cringe  to  be  esteem'd  at  court  : 
Mine  be  the  pleasure  of  a  rural  life, 
Frcia  iioise  remote,  and  ignoran:  of  strife  ; 


APPENDIX,  .721 

J'ar  from  the  painted  belle,  and  white  glov'd  beau, 
The  lawless  masquerade,  and  midnight  show  ; 
From  ladies,  lap-dogs,  courtiers,  garters,  stars> 
Fops,  fiddlers,  tyrants,  emperors,  and  czars. 

Full  in  the  center  of  some  shady  grover 
By  nature  form'd  for  solitude  and  love  ; 
On  banks  array 'd  with  ever-blooming  flow'rs, 
Near  beauteous  landskips,  or  by  rosiate  bow'rs* 
My  neat,  but  simple  mansion  I  would  raise, 
Unlike  the  sumptuous  domes  of  modern  days  'r 
Devoid  of  pomp,  with  rural  plainness  form'd, 
With  savage  g,amey  and  glossy  shells  aricrn'd- 

No  costly  furniture  should  grace  my  hall  ; 
But  curling  vines  ascend  against  the  wall, 
Whose  pliant  branches  shou'd  luxuriant  twiney 
While  purple  clusters  swell'd  with  future  wine  ? 
To  slake  my  thirst  a  liquid  lapse  distil 
From  crage;y  rocks,  and  spread  a  limpid  rill. 
Along  my  mansion  spiry  frrs  should  grow, 
gloomy  yews  extend  the  shady  row  ; 

:  cedars  flourish,  and  the  poplars  rise 

,  imely  tall,  and  shoot  into  the  skies  : 
Among  the  leaves  refreshing  zephyrs  play, 
Awd  crouding  trees  exclude  the  noon-tide  ray  ; 
Whereon  the  birds  their  downy  nests  should  form; 
Securely  shclter'd  from  the  hatt'ring  storm  ; 
And  to  melodious  notes  their  choir  apply, 
Soon  as  Aurora  blush'd  along  the  sky  : 
While  all  around  th'  enchanting  mnsic  rl 
And  ev'ry  vocal  grove  responsive  sings, 

Me  to  sequester'd  scenes,  ye  muses,  guide* 
Where  nature  wantons  in  her  virgin  pride  ; 
To  mossy  banks  ecig'd  £ound  with  op'ning  flow'rs, 
Klysian  Jit'his  and  armiranthian  bow'rs  ; 
T*  amBrosial  founts,  and  sleep-inspiring  rills, 
'I'o  herbag'cl  vales,  gay  lawns,  and  sunny  hills. 

Welcome,  ye  shades  !  nil  hail,  yc  vernal  blooms  I 
Ye  bow'ry  thickets,  and  prophetic  glooms  I 


322  APPENDIX. 

Ye  forests  hail !  ye  solitary  woods  I 

Love  whispering  groves,  and  silver  streaming  floods! 

Ye  meads,  that  aromatic  sweets  exhale  ! 

Ye  birds,  and  all  ye  sylvan  beauties  hail  1 

Oh,  how  I  long  with  you  to  spend  my  days, 

Invoke  the  muse,  and  try  the  rural  lays  ! 

No  trumpets  there  with  martial  clangor  sound, 
No  prostrate  heroes  strew- the  crimson 'd  ground; 
No  groves  of  lances  glitter  in  the  air, 
Nor  thund'ring  drums  provoke  the  sanguine  war  :• 
But  white-rob'cl  peace  and  universal  love 
Smile  in  the  field,  and; brighten  ev'ry  grove* 
There  all  the  beauties  of  the  circling  year, 
In  native  ornamental  pride  appear, 
Gay  rosy-bosom'd  SPRING,  and  dfiril  show'rs, 
Wake  from  the  womb  of  earth  the  rising  ilow'rs  :- 
In  deeper  verdure  SUMMER  clothes  the  plain, 
And  AUTUMN  bends  beneath  the  golden  grain  ; 
The  trees  weep  amber,  and  the  whispering  gales 
Breeze  o'er  the  lav/n,  or  murmur  through  the  vales  ; 
The  £ow'ry  tribes  in  gay  confusion  bloom, 
Profuse  of  sweets,  and  fragrant  with  perfume  ; 
On  blossoms  blossoms,  fruits  on  fruits  arise, 
And  varied  prospects  glad  the  wand'ring  eyes. 
In  these  fair  Seats  I'd  pass  the  joyous  day, 
"Where  meadows  flourish  and  where  fields  look  gay  ; 
From  bliss  to  bliss  with  endless  pleasure  rove, 
Seek  crystal  streams,  or  haunt  the  vernal  grove, 
Woods,  fountains,  lakes,  th-j  fertile  fields,  or  shades, 
Aerial  mountains,  or  subjacent  glades* 

There  from  the  polish'd  fetters  of  the  great, 
Triumphal  piles,  and  gilded  rooms  of  state  ; 

Prime  ministers-  a:i:l  sycophantic  knaves. 
and  illustrious  slaves  I 
From  all  the  vain  formality  of  fools, 
:.sk  of  arbitrary  rules  ; 

Th^  ?  .  '    d  soul  annoy . 

Tli--  possess,  but  not  enjoy, 

The  \  i he  world  can  lend, 

Th'  :  v;  friend 


APPENDIX.  323 

The  seven  fold  fury  of  Xantippc's  soul, 
And  S  .       *s  rage  that  burns  without  control  ; 
I'd  live  retir'd  contented,  and  serene, 
Forgot,  unknown,  unenviecl  and  unseen. 

Yet  not  a  real  hermitage  I'd  choose, 
Nor  wish  to  live  from  all  the  world  recluse  ; 
Out  with  a  friend  sometimes  unbend  the  soul 
In  social  converse,  o'er  the  sprightly  bowl. 
With  cheerful  IV— — ,  serene  and  wisely  gay,, 
I'd  often  pass  the  dancing  hours  away  ; 
He  skill'd  alike  to  profit  and  to  please, 
Politely  talks  with  unaffected  ease  ; 
Sage  in  debate,  and  faithful  to  his  trust. 
Mature  in  science,  and  severely  just, 
Of  soul  diffusive,  vast  and  unconfm'cl, 
Breathing  benevolence  to  all  mankind  ; 
Cautious  to  censure,  ready  to  commend, 
A  firm,  unshaken,  uncorrupted  friend  : 
In  early  youth  fair  wisdom's  path  he  trod, 
In  early  youth  a  minister  of  God  : 
Each  pupil  lov'd  him  when  at  Yale  he  shone, 
And  ev'ry  bleeding  bosom  weeps  him  gone. 

Dear  A too,  should  grace  my  rural  Seat, 

For  ever  welcome  to  the  green  retreat : 
Heav'n  for  the -cruise  of  righteousness  designed 
His  florid  genius,  and  capacious  mind  : 
Oft'  have  I  heard,  amidst  th'  adoring  throng, 
Celestial  truths  devolving  from  his  tongue  ; 
High  o'er  the  list'ning  audience  seen  him  stand, 
Divinely  speak,  and  graceful  stretch  his  hand  : 
With  such  becoming  grace  and  pompous  sound, 
With  long-rob'd  senators  encircled  round, 
Before  the  Roman  bar,  while  Rome  was  free, 
Nor  bow VI  to  Cesar's  throne  the  servile  knee. 
Immortal  Tulhj  plead  the  patriot  cause, 
While  ev'ry  tongue  resounded  his  applause. 

Next  round  my  board  should  candid  S -appear, 

Of  manners  gentle,  and  a  friend  sincere, 
.-i'se  to  discord,  party  rage  and  strife, 
lie  sails  serenely  down  the  stream  of  life. 
With  these  three  friends,  beneath  a  spreading  shade, 
Where  silver  fountains  murmur  through  U 


324  APPENDIX. 

Or  in  cool  grots,  perfum'cl  with  native  flow'rs, 

In  harmless  mirth  I'd  spend  the  circling  hours  ; 

Or  gravely  talk,  or  innocently  sing, 

Or,  in  harmonious  concert,  strike  the  trembling  string. 

Amid  sequester'd  bow'rs,  near  gliding  streams, 
Druids  and  Bards  enjoy 'd  serenest  dreams. 
Such  was  the  seat  where  courtly  Horace  sung  : 
And  his  bold  h?\rp  immortal  Metro  strung  : 
Where  tuneful  Orpheus'  unresisted  lay, 
Made  rapid  tygers  bear  their  rage  away  ; 
While  groves  attentive  to  the  extatic  sound 
'Burst  from  their  roots,  and  raptur'd,  danc'd  around. 
Such  seats  the  venerable  Sesra  of  old 
(When  blissful  years  in  golden  circles  roli'd) 
Chose  and  admir'd  :  e'en  Goddesses  and  Gods 
(As  poets~feign)  were  fond  of  such  abodes  : 
Th'  imperial  Consort  of  fictitious  Jo~oe 
For  fount  full  Ide  forsook  the  realms  above. 
Oft'  to  Idalla  on  a  golden  cloud, 
Veird  in  a  mist  of  fragrance,  Venus  rode  ; 
There  num'rous  altars  to  the  queen  were  rer.r'ci, 
And  love-sick  youths  their  am'rous  vows  preftr'd, 
While  fair-hair'd  damsels  (a  lacivious  train) 
With  wanton  rites  ador'd  her  gentle  reign, 
The  silver-shafted  Huntress  of  the  woods, 
Sought  pendant  shades,  and  bath'd  in  cooling  floods. 
In  palmy  Ddon  by  Scamandcr's  side, 
Or  where  Cvjister  rclPcl  his  silver  tide, 
Melodious  Phebus  sang  ;  the  Muses  round 
Alternate  warbling  to  the  heav'nly  sound. 
E'en  the  feign'd  MONARCH  of  heav'n's  bright  abode. 
High  thron'd  in  gold,  of  Gods  the  sov'reign  God, 
Oft'  time  prefer'd  the  shade  of  Ida's  grove 
To  all  th'  ambrosial  feasts,  and  nectar'd  cups  above. 

Behold,  the  rosy  fmger'd  morning  dawn, 
In  saffron  rob'cl,  and  blushing  o'er  the  lawn  I 
Reflected  from  the  clouds  a  radiant  stream 
Tips  with  etherial  de\v  the  mountain's  brim. 
Th'  unfolding  roses,  and  the  op'ning  flow'rs 
Imbibe  the  dev/,  and  strew  the  varied  bor,v 


APPENDIX. 

Diffuse  nectarious  sweets  around,  and  glov/ 
With  all  the  colors  of  the  show'ry  bow. 
Th'  industrious  bees  their  balmy  toil  renew, 
Buzz  o'er  the  field,  and  sip  the  rosy  dew. 
But  yonder  comes  th'  illustrious  Cod  of  day, 
Invests  the  east,  and  gilds  th'  etherial  way  ; 
The  groves  rejoice,  the  feather'd  nations  sing, 
Echo  the  mountains  and  .the  vallies  ring* 

Hail  Orb  !  array'd  with  majesty  and  fire, 
That  bids  each  sable  shade  of  night  retire  1 
Fountain  oflight  !  with  burning  glory  crown'd, 
•Darting  a  deluge  of  effulgence  round  1 
Wak'd  by  thy  genial  and  prolific  ray, 
Nature  resumes  her  vendure  and  looks  gay  : 
Fresh  blooms  the  rose,  and  drooping  plants  revive, 
The  groves  re-flourish,  and  the  forests  live. 
Deep  in  the  teeming  earth,  the  rip'ning  ore 
Confesses  thy  consolidating  po\\'r  ; 
Hence  labor  draws  her  tools,  and  artists  mould 
The  fusile  silver  and  the  ductile  gold  : 
Hence  war  is  furnish'd  and  the  regal  shield 
Like  lightning  flashes  o'er  th'  iliumin'd  field. 
If  them  so  fair  with  delegated  light, 
That  all  heav'n's  splendors  vanish  at  thy  sight  ; 
With  what  effulgence  must  the  ocean  glow  ! 
From  which  thy  borrow'd  beams  incessant  flow  1 
Th'  exhaustless  source,  whose  single  smiles  supplies, 
Th'  unnumber'd  orbs  that  gild  the  spangled  skies  I 

Oft'  would  I  view,  in  admiration  lost, 
Heav'n's  sumptuous  canopy,  and  starry  host  ; 
With  level'd  tube  and  astronomic  eye, 
Pursue  the  planets  whirling  through  the  sky  : 
Immensurable  vault  !  where  thunders  roll, 
And  forky  lightnings  flash  from  pole  to  pole- 
Say,  railing  infidel !  canst  thou  survey 
Yon  globe  of  fire,  that  gives  the  golden  day, 
Th'  harmonious  structure  of  this  vast  machine, 
And  not  confess  its  Architect  divine  ? 
Then  go,  vain  wretch  •  tho'  deathless  be  thy  soul, 
Go,  swell   the  rioU  and  exhaust  the  bowl ; 
£  e 


1  SKI 


326  APPENDIX, 

Plunge   into  vice,   humanity  resign, 
Go,   fill  tbf:  stie,  and  bristle  into  swine  ! 

None  but  a  pow'r  omnipotent  and  wise 
Could  frame  this  earth,  or  spread  the  boundless  skies  ; 
lie  made  the  whole  ;  at  his  omnific  call 
From  formless  chaos  rose  this  spacious  ball, 
And  one  ALMIGHTY,  GOD  is  seen  in  all. 
By  him  our  cup  is  crown'd,  our  table  spread 
With  luscious  wine,  and  life-sustaining  bread. 
What  countless  wonders  doth  the  earth  contain  ! 
What  countless  wonders  the  unfathom'd  main  I 
Redrop'd  with  gold,  there  scaly  nations  shine, 
1  Taunt  coral  groves,  or  Irish  the  foming  brine. 
OVAM's  glories  blaze  all  nature  round, 
v  Liven,  on  earth,  and  in  the  deeps  profound  ; 
Ambitious  of  his  name,  the  warblers  sing, 
And  praise  their  maker  while  they  hail  the  spring  : 
The  zephyrs  breathe  it,  and  the  thunders  roar, 
While  surge  to  surge,  and  shore  resounds  to  shore-- 
But MAN,  endu'd  with  an  immortal  mind, 
His  Maker's  image,  and  for  heaven  design'd  ! 
To  loftier  notes  his  raptur'd  voice  should  raise, 
And  chaunt  subiimer  hymns  to  his  Creator's  praise. 

When  rising  Phcbus  ushers  in  the  morn.. 
And  golden  beams  the  impurpled  skies  adorn  : 
V7ak'd  by  the  gentle  murmur  of  the  floods, 
Or  the  soft  music  of  the  waving  woods  ; 
Rising  from  sleep  with  the  melodious  quire, 
To  solemn   sounds  I'd  tune  the  hallow'd  lyre. 
Thy  name,  O  GOD  !  should  tremble  on  my  tongue? 
Till  ev'ry  grove  prov'd  vocal  to  my  song- : 
(Delightful  task  !  with  dawning  light  to  sing, 
Triumphant  hymns  to  heav'n's  eternal  king.) 
Some  courteous  angel  should  my  breast  inspire. 
Attune  my  lips,  and  guide  the  warbled  wire, 
While  sportive  echoes  catch  the  sacred  sound, 
Swell  ev'ry  note,  and  bear  the  music  round  ; 
While  mazy  streams  meand'ring  to  the  main 
Hang  in  suspense  to  hear  the  heavenly  strain* 
And  hush'd  to  silence  all  the  feather'd  throng. 
V.tentive  listen  to  the  tuneful  song. 


APPEND!  X. 

Father  of  Light  !  exhaustless  source  of  good  I 
Supreme,  eternal,  self-existent  God  ! 
Before  the  beamy  Sun  dispensed  a  ray, 
Flam'd  in  the  azure  vault,  and  gave  the  day  : 
Before  the  glimm'ring  Moon  with  borrow *d  light. 
Shone  queen  amid  the  silver  host  of  night ; 
High  in  the  heav'ns,  thou  reign'clst  superior  Lord, 
By  suppliant  angels  worshiped  and  aclor'd. 
With  the  celestial  choir  then  let  me  join 
In  cheerful  praises  to  the  pow'r  Divine. 
To  sing  thy  praise,  do  thou,  O  GOD  !  inspire 
A  mortal  breast  with  more  than  mortal  fire  ; 
In  dreadful  majesty  thou  sit'st  enthron'd, 
With  light  encircled,  and  with  glory  crown'd  ; 
Through  all  infinitude  extends  thy  reign, 
For  thee,  nor  heav'n,  nor  heav'n  of  heav'ns  contain  ; 
But  though  thy  throne  isjix'd  above  the  sky, 
Thy  omnipresence  fills  immensity* 
Saints  rob'd  in  white,  to  thee  their  anthems  bring, 
And  radiant  Martyrs  hallelujahs  sing- : 
Heav'n's  universal  host  their  voices  raise 
In  one  eternal  chorus ,  to  thy  praise  ; 
And  round  thy  awful  throne,  with  one  accord, 
Sing,  Holy,  Holy,  Holy,  is  the  Lord^ 
At  thy  creative  voice,  from  ancient  night, 
Sprang  smiling  beauty,  and  yon  worlds  of  light : 
Thou  spak'st — the  planetary  Chorus  roll'd, 
And  all  th'  expanse,  was  starr'd  with  beamy  gold  ; 
Let  there  be  light,  said  GOD, — Light  instant  shone, 
And  from  the  orient,  burst  the  golden  Sun  ; 
Heav'n's  gazing  hierarchies,  with  glad  surprise, 
Saw  the  first  morn  invest  the  recent  skies, 
And  straight  th'  exulting  troops  thy  throne  surround 
With  thousand  thousand  harps  of  heav'nly  sound  : 
Thrones,  powers,  dominions,  (ever  shining  trains  !) 
Shouted  thy  praises  in  triumphant  strains  ; 
Great  are  thy  works,  they  sing,  and  all  around, 
Great  are  thy  works,  the  echoing  heav'ns  resound. 
The  effulgent  sun,  insufferably  bright, 
Is  but  a  beam  of  thy  o'erflowing  light  ; 
The  tempest  is  thy  breath  :  the  thunder  hurl'd, 
Tremendous  roars  thy  vengeance  o'er  thee  world  ; 


328  APPENDIX. 

Thou  bow'st  the  heav'ns,  the  smoking  mountains  nod» 

Rocks  fall  to  dust,  and  natwre  owns  her  God  ; 

Pale  tyrants  shrink,  the  atheist  stands  aghast, 

And  impious  kings  in  horror  breathe  their  last, 

To  this  great  God  alternately  I'd  pay 

The  ev'ning  anthem,  and  the  morning  lay. 

For  sov'reign  Geld  I  never  would  repine, 
Nor  wish  the  glittering  dust  of  monarchs  mine. 
What  though  high  columns  heave  into  the  skies^ 
Gay  ceilings  shine,  and  vaulted  arches  rise  ; 
Though  fretted  gold  the  sculptured  roof  adorn. 
The  rubies  redden,  and  the  jaspers  burn  \ 
Or  what,  alas  !  avails  the  gay  attire 
To  wretched  man,  who  breathes  but  to  expire  !. 
Oft'  on  the  vilest,  riches  are  bestow 'd, 
To  show  their  meanness  in  the  sight  of  GocT*. 
High  from  a  dunghill,  see  a  Dives  rise, 
And,  Titan  like,  insult  th'  avenging  skies  : 
The  crowd,  in  adulation  calls  him  Lord, 
By  thousands  courted,  flatter'd,  and  ador'd  : 
In  riot  plung'd,  and  drunk  with  earthly  joys, 
No  higher  thought  his  grov'ling   soul  employs  j 
The  poor  he  scourges  with  an  iron  rod, 
And  from  his  bosom  banishes  his  God. 
But  oft'  in  height  of  wealth  and  beauty's  bloom, 
Deluded  man,  is  fated  to  the  tomb  ! 
For,  lo  !   he  sickens,  swift  his  color  JVies, 
And  rising  mists  obscure  his  swimming  eyes  : 
Around  his  bed  his  weeping  friends  bemoan, 
Ax  tort  tli'  unwilling  tear,  and  \vish  him  gone  ; 
His  sorrowing  heir  augments  the  tender  shov 
Deplores  his  death — yet  hails  the  dying  hour. 
Ah  bitter  comfort  !   Sad  relief,  to  die  1 
Though  sunk  in  down,  beneath  the  canopy  ! 
His  eyes  no  more  shall  see  the  cheerful  light, 
Weigh'd  down  by  death  in  everlasting  night : 
And  now  the  great,  the  rich,  the  proud,  the  r  • 
Lie  breathless,  cold — -nnanimated  clay  ! 
He  that  just  now  was  fhuter'd  by  the  croud 
with  high  applause,  and  acclamations  loud  ; 
<-  steeled  his  bosom  to  the  orphar/s  cries 
TW  down  torrents  from  the  widow's  eyes 


APPENDIX.  329 

Whom  like  a  God  the  rabble  did  adore — 
Hegard  him  now — and,  lo  1  he  is  no  more. 

My  eyes  no  dazzling  vestments  should  behold 
With  gems  instarr'd  and  stiff  with  woven  gold  ; 
But  the  tall  ram  his  downy  ileece  afford 
To  clothe,  in  modest  garb;  his  frugal  lord  ; 
Thus  the  great  Father  of  mankind  was  clrest, 
When  shaggy  hides  compos'd  his  flowing  vest ; 
Doom'd  to  the  cumb'roiis  load,  for  his  offence, 
When  clothes  supply  'd  the  want  of  innocence  : 
But  now  his  sons  (forgetful  whence  they  came) 
Glitter  in  gems,  and  glory  in  their  shame. 

Oft'  would  I  wander  through  the  dewy  field, 
Where  clusfring  roses  balmy  fragrance  yield  ; 
Or  in  lone  grots,  for  contemplation  made, 
Converse  with  angels  and  the  mighty  dead.-— 
For  all  around  unnumber'd  spirits  fly, 
Waft  on  the  breeze,  or  walk  the  liquid  sky, 
Inspire  the  poet  with  repeated  dreams 
Who  gives  his  hallow 'd  muse  to  sacred  themes, 
Protect  the  just,  serene  their  gloomy  hours, 
Becalm  their  slumbers,  and  refresh  their  pow'rs, 
Methinks  I  see  th'  immortal  Beings  fly, 
And  swiftly  shoot  athwart  the  streaming  sky  : 
Hark  !  a  melodious  voice  I  seem  to  hear, 
And  heav'nly  sounds  invade  my  list'ning  ear  1 
4J  Be  not  afraid  of  us,  innoxious  band, 
u  Thy  cell  surrounding  by  divine  command  ; 
"  E'er  while  like  thee,  we  led  our  lives  below, 
"  (Sad  lives  of  pain,  of  misery,  and  woe  !) 
"  Long  by  affliction's  boist'rous  tempests  tost, 
"  We  reach'd  at  length  the  ever  blissful  coast : 
"  Now  in  th'  embow'ring  groves,  and  lawns  above* 
JC  We  taste  the  raptures  of  immortal  Iove3 
a  Attune  the  golden  harp  in  roseate  bow'rs, 
"  Or  bind  our  temples  with  unfading  ilow'rs* 
"  Oft'  on  kind  errands  bent,  we  cut  the  air, 
"  To  guard  the  righteous,  heav'n's  peculiar  care  ! 
"  Avert  impending  harms,  their  minds  compose, 
"  Inspire  gay  dreams,  and  prompt  their  soft  repose. 
E  e  2 


330  APPENDIX. 

:  When  from  thy  tongue  divine  hosannas  roll?. 
;  And  sacred  raptures  swell  thy  rising  soul, 
•  To  heay'n  we  bear  thy  pray'rs  like  rich  perfumes, 
'  Where,  by  the  throne,  the  golden  censer  fumes  ;, 
''  And  when  with  age  thy  head  is  silver'd  o'er, 
c  And  cold  in  death,  thy  bosom  beats  no  more, 
"  Thy  soul  exulting  shall  desert  its  clay, 
ic  And  mount,  triumphant,  to  eternal  day." 
But  to  improve  the  intellectual  mind, 
Reading  should  be  to  contemplation  join'd. 
First  I'd  collect  from  the  Parnassian  spring, 
V/hat  muses  dictate,  and  what  poets  sing — 
Virgil,  as  Prince,  shou'd  wear  the  laurePd  crown* 
And  other  bards  pay  homage  to  his  throne  ; 
The  blood  of  heroes  now  eiTus'd  so  long, 
Will  run  for  ever  purple  through  his  song. 
See  !  how  he  mounts  toward  the  blest  abodes* 
On  Planets  rides,  and  talks  with  derm-gods  I 
How  do  our  ravish 'd  spirits  melt  away, 
When  in  his  song  Sicilian  shepherds  play  ! 
But  what  a  splendor  strikes  the  dazzled  eye,, 
When  Dido  shines  in  awful  majesty  ! 
Embroider'd  purple  clad  the  Tyrian  queen, 
Her  motion  graceful,  and  august  her  mien  ;. 
A  golden  zone  her  royal  limbs  ernbrac'cl 
A  golden  quiver  rattled  by  her  waist. 
See  her  proud  steed  majestically  prance, 
Contemn  the  trumpet,  and  deride  the  lance  1 
In  crimson  trappings,  glorious  to  behold, 
Confus'dly  gay  with  interwoven  gold  I 
He  champs  the  bitt,  and  throws  the  foam  around^ 
Impatient  paws,  and  tears  the  solid  ground. 
How  stern  JEneas  thunders  through  the  field  ! 
With  tow'ring  helmet,  and  refulgent  shield  ! 
Coursers  o'erturn'd,  and  mighty  warriors  slain, 
Deform 'd  with  gore,  lie  welt'ring  on  the  plain. 
Struck  through  with  wounds,  "41-fated  chieftains  lie?v 
Frown  e'en  in  death,  and  threaten  as  they  die. 
Through  the  thick  squadrons  see  the  Hero  bound  ! 
(His  helmet  flashes,  and  his  arms  resound  !) 
All  grim  with  rage,  he  frowns  o'er  Turmts'  h<:acl? 
(Rekindled  ire  !  for  blcoming  Pallas  dead) 


APPENDIX-.  331 

Then  in  liis  bosom  plung'd  the  shining  blade — 
The  soul  indignant  sought  the  Stygian  shade  ! — 

The  far  fam'd  bards  that  grac'd  Britannia's  isle^ 
Should  next  compose  the  -venerable  pile. 
Great  Milton  first,  for  tow'ring  thought  venown'cL 
Parent  of  song,  and  fam'd  the  world  around  ! 
His  glowing  breast  divine  Urania  fir'd, 
Or  GOD  himself  the  immortal  Bard  inspir'd* 
Borne  on  triumphant  wings  he  takes  his  flight, 
Explores  all  heaven,  and  treads  the  realms  of  light  ^ 
In  martial  pomp  he  clothes  th'  angelic  train, 
While  warring  miriads  shake  th'  etherial  plain* 
First  Michael  stalks,  high  tow 'ring  o'er  the  rest 
With  heav'nly  plumage  nodding  on  his  crest  ; 
Impenetrable  arms  his  limbs  infold, 
Eternal  adamant,  and  burning  gold  ! 
Sparkling  in  fiery  mail,   with  dire  delight, 
Rebellious  Satan  animates  the  fight  : 
Armipotent  they  sink  in  rolling  smoke, 
.All  heav'n  resounding  to  its  center  shook. 
To  crush  his  foes,  and  quell  the  dire  alarms 
Messiah  sparkled  in  refulgent  arms, 
In  radiant  panoply  divinely  bright 
His  limbs  incas'd  he  flash'd  devouring  light. 
On  burning  wheels,  o'er  heav'n's  crystalline  road 
Thunder'd  the  chariot  of  the  ^W/a/God  ; 
The  burning  wheels  on  golden  axles  turn'd 
With  flaming  gems  the  golden  axles  burn'd. 
Lo  !  the  apostate  host,  with  terror  struck, 
Roll  back  by  millions  !  Th'  Empyrean  shook  ! 
Scepters,  and  orbid  shields,  and  crowns  of  cold, 
Cherubs  and  Seraphs  in  confusion  rolFd  ; 
Till  from  his  hand  the  tripple  thunder  huiTd  ; 
Compell'd  them  headlong,  to  th'  infernal  world. 

Then  tuneful  Pofic,  whom  all  the  nine  inspire^ 
With  safihic  sweetness,  and  Pindaric  fire. 
Father  of  verse  !  melodious  and  divine  ! 
Next  peerless  Milton  should  distinguish'd  shine. 
Smooth  flow  his  numbers  when  he  paints  the  grove? 
Th'  inraptur'd  virgins  list'ning  into  love. 


332  APPENDIX. 

But  when  the  night,  and  hoarse  resounding  storm 
Rush  on  the  deep,  and  Neptune's  face  deform, 
Rough  runs  the  verse,  the  son'rous  numbers  roar 
Like  the  hoarse  surge  that  thunders  on  the  shore. 
But  when  he  sings  th'  exhilirated  swains, 
Th'  embowering  groves,  and  Windsor's  blissful  plains, 
Our  eyes  are  ravish'd  with  the  sylvan  scene, 
Embroider'd  fields,  and  groves  in  living  green  : 
His  lays  the  verdure  of  the  meads  prolong, 
And  wither'd  forests  blossom  in  his  song, 
Thames*  silver  streams  his  flowing  verse  admire, 
And  cease  to  murmur  while  he  tunes  his  lyre. 

Next  shou'd  appear  great  Dryderfs  lofty  muse, 
For  who  would  Dryden's  polish'd  verse  refuse  ? 
His  lips  were  moist'ned  in  Parnassus'  spring, 
And  Phcbus  taught  his  laurcat  son  to  sing. 
How  long  did  Virgil  untranslated  moan, 
His  beauties  fading,  and  his  flights  unknown  ; 
Till  Drydcn  rose,  and  in  exalted  strain, 
Re-sang  the  fortune  of  the  god-like  man  ? 
Again  the  Trogan  prince  with  dire  delight, 
Dreadful  in   arms,  demands  the  ling'ring  fight  : 
Again  Camilla  glows  with  martial  fire, 
Drives  armies  back,  and  makes  all  Troy  retire. 
With  more  than  native  lustre  Virgil  shines, 
And  gains  subllmer  heights  in  Dry den' *#  lines. 

The  gentle  Watts  who  strings  his  silver  lyre 
To  sacred  odes,  and  heaven's  all-ruling  fire  ; 
Who  scorns  th*  applause  of  the  licentious  stage, 
And  mounts  you5  sparkling  worlds  with  hollow'd  rage? 
Compels  my  thoughts  to  wing  the  heav'nly  road, 
And  wafts  my  soul,  exulting,  to  my  God  ; 
No  fabled  Nine  harmonious  bard  !  inspire 
Thy  raptur'd  breast  with  such  seraphic  fire  ; 
But  prompting  Angels  warm  thy  boundless  rage. 
Direct  thy  thoughts,  and  animate  thy  page. 
Blest  man  1  for  spotless  sanctity  rever'd, 
Lov'd  by  the  good,  and  by  the  guilty  fear'd, 
Blest  man  !  from  gay  delusive  scenes  remov'd, 
Thy  Maker  loving,  by  thy  Maker  lov'd. 


APPENDIX, 

To  God  thou  tun'st  thy  consecrated  lays, 

Nor  meanly  blush  to  sing*  Jehovah's  praise. 

Oh,  did,  like  thee,  each  laurel'd  bard  delight 

To  paint  Religion  in  her  native  light, 

Not  then  with  Plays  the  lab'ring  press  would  groan, 

Nor  Vice  defy  the  Pulpit  and  the  Throne  ; 

No  impious  rhymer  charm  a  vicious  age, 

Nor  prostrate  virtue  groan  beneath  their  rage  : 

But  themes  divine  in  lofty  numbers  rise, 

Fill  the  wide  earth,  and  echo  through  the  skies. 

These  for  Delight  ;— for  Profit  I  would  read 
The  labor'd  volumes  of  the  learned  dead, 
Sagacious  Locke,  by  Providence  design'd 
T*  exalt,  instruct,  and  rectify  the  mind. 
Th'  unconquerable  Sage*  whom  virtue  fir'd 
And  from  the  tyrant's  lawless  rage  retir'd, 
When  victor  Cesar  freed  unhappy  Rome 
From  Pomfiey's  chains,  to  substitute  his  own. 
Longinus,  Livy,  fam'd  Thucydides, 
Quinlillian,  Plato  and  Demosthenes, 
Persuasive  Tally  and  Corduba's  Sage,\ 
Who  fell  by  .Acre's  unrelenting  rage  ; 
Him  \  whom  ungrateful  Athens  doom'd  to  bleed, 
Despis'd  when  living,  and  deplor'd  when  dead. 
Raleigh  I'd  read  with  ever  fresh  delight, 
While  ages  past  rise  present  to  my  sight : 
Ah  man  unblest !  he  foreign  realms  explor'd, 
Then  fell  a  victim  to  his  country's  sword  1 
Nor  should  great  Derham  pass  neglected  by, 
Observant  sage  !  to  whose  deep-piercing  eye 
Nature's  stupendous  works  expanded  lie, 
Nor  he,  Britannia,  thy  unmatch'd  renown  I 
(Adjudg'd  to  wear  the  philosophic  crown) 
Who  on  the  solar  orb  uplifted  rode, 
And  scan'd  th'  unfathomable  works  of  God  ! 
Who  bound  the  silver  planets  to  their  spheres. 
And  tracM  th5  elliptic  curve  of  blazing  stars  I 
Immortal  Newton  ;  whose  illustrious  name 
Will  shine  on  records  of  eternal  fame. 

*  Cato.  j  Seneca.  \  Socrates, 


334  APPEND  IX, 

By  love  directed,  I  wou'cl  choose  a  wife, 
T'  improve  my  bliss  and  ease  the  load  of  life* 
Hail  Wedlock  !  hail,  inviolable  tye  ! 
Perpetual  fountain  of  domestic  joy  ! 
Love,  friendship,  honor,  truth,  and  pure  delight 
Harmonious  mingle  in  the  nuptial  rite* 
In  Eden  first  the  holy  state  began, 
When  perfect  innocence  distinguish'd  man  ; 
The  human  pair,  th'  Almighty  Pontiff  led, 
Gay  as  the  morning  to  the  bridal  bed  ; 
A  dread  solemnity  th'  espousals  grac'd, 
dngcls  the  Witnesses,  and  GOD  the  PRIEST  I 
All  earth  exulted  on  the  nuptial  hour, 
And  voluntary  roses  deck'd  the  bower  ; 
The  joyous  birds  on  every  blossom'd  spray, 
Sung  Hymeneans  to  the  important  day, 
While  Philomela  swell'd  the  spousal  song> 
And  Paradise  with  gratulation  rung. 

Relate,  inspiring  muse  !  where  shall  I  find 
A  blooming  virgin  with  an  angel  mind  ? 
Unblemish*d  as  the  white-rob'cl  virgin  quire? 
That  fed,  O  Rome  I  thy  consecrated  fire  ? 
By  reason  aw'd,  ambitious  to  be  good, 
Averse  to  vice,  and  zealous  for  her  God  ? 
Eel  ate,  in  what  blest  region  can  I  find 
Such  bright  perfections  in  a  female  mind  ? 
What  Pherdx  woman  breathes  the  vital  air 
So  greatly  good,  and  so  divinely  fair  ? 
Sure,  not  the  gay  and  fashionable  train, 
Licentious,  proud,  immoral  and  profane  ; 
Who  spend  their  golden  hours  in  antic  dress, 
Malicious  whispers,  and  inglorious  ease.—* 

Lo  !  round  the  board  a  shining  train  appears 
In  rosy  beauty,  and  in  prime  of  years  ! 
This  hates  a  flounce,  and  this  a  flounce  approves^ 
This  shows  the  trophies  of  her  former  loves  ; 
Polly  avers  that  Sylvia  drest  in  green, 
When  last  at  Church  the  gaudy  Nymph  was  seen  ; 
Chloe  condemns  her  optics,  and  will  lay 
Twas  azure  sattin,  interstreak'd  with  grey  ; 


APPENDIX.  335 

Zwr r/5  invested  with  judicial  pow'r 

Awards  'twas  neither and  the  strife  is  o'er. 

Then  parrots,  lap-dogs,  monkeys,  squirrels,  beaux, 

Fans,  ribbands,  tuckers,  patches,  furbeloes, 

In  quick  succession,  through  their  fancies  run, 

And  dance  incessant  on  the  flippant  tongue. 

And  when  fatigu'd  with  ev'ry  other  sport, 

The  belles  prepare  to  grace  the  sacred  court. 

They  marshal  all  their  forces  in  array, 

To  kill  with  glances  ami  destroy  in  play. 

Two  skilful  maids  with  reverential  fear 

In  wanton  wreaths  collect  their  silken  hair  ; 

Two  paint  their  cheeks,  and  round  their  temples  pour 

The  fragrant  unguent,  and  th3  ambrosial  sho\v'r  ; 

One  pulls  the  shape-creating  stays,  and  one 

Encircles  round  her  waist  the  golden  zone  ; 

Not  with  more  toil  t'  improve  immortal  charms. 

Strove  Juno,  Venus^  and  the  Queen  of  Arms. 

When  Priam's  Son  adjudg'd  the  golden  prize> 

To  the  resistless  beauty  of  the  skies. 

At  length  equip'd  in  love's  enticing  arms, 

With  all  that  glitters  and  with  all  that  charms, 

Th'  ideal  goddesses  to  church  repair, 

Peep  through  the  fan  and  mutter  o'er  a  pray*r; 

Or  listen  to  the  organ's  pompous  sound, 

Or  eye  the  gilded  images  around  ; 

Or,  deeply  studied  in  coquetish  rules, 

Aim  wily  glances  at  unthinking  fools  ; 

Or  show  the  lily  hand  with  graceful  air, 

Or  wound  the  fopling  with  a  lock  of  hair  : 

And  when  the  hated  discipline  is  o'er, 

And  Misses  tortur'd  with  Refient  no  more, 

They  mount  the  pictur'd  coach  and  to  the  play, 

The  celebrated  idols  hie  away. 

Not  so  the  Lass  that  should  my  joys  improte. 
With  solid  friendship,  and  connubial  love  ; 
A  native  bloom,  with  intermingled  white, 
Should  set  her  features  in  a  pleasing  light  ; 
Like  Helen  flushing  with  unrivall'd  charms, 
When  raptur'd  Paris  darted  in  her  arms* 
But  what,  alas  !  avails  a  ruby  cheek, 
A  downy  bosom,  or  a  snowy  neck  ! 


APPENDIX. 

Charms  ill  supply  the  want  of  innocence, 

Nor  beauty  forms  intrinsic  excellence  : 

But  in  her  breast  let  moral  beauties  shine, 

Supernal  grace  and  purity  divine  : 

Sublime  her  reason,  and  her  native  wit 

Unstrain'cl  with  pedantry,  and  low  conceit  : 

Her  fancy  lively,  and  her  judgment  free 

From  female  prejudice  and  bigotry  ; 

Averse  to  idle  pomp,  and  outward  show, 

The  flatt'ring  coxcomb,  and  fantastic  beau. 

The  fop's  impertinence  she  should  despise, 

Though  sorely  'wounded  by  her  radiant  eyes  ; 

But  pay  due  rev'rence  to  th*  exalted  mind 

By  learning  polish'd  and  by  wit  renVd, 

Who  all  her  virtues,  without  guile,  commends> 

And  all  her  faults  as  freely  reprehends, 

Soft  Hymen's  rites  her  passion  should  approve, 

And  in  her  bosom  glow  the  flames  of  love  : 

To  me  her  soul  by  sacred  friendship,  turn, 

And  I,  for  her  with  equal  friendship  burn  : 

In  every  stage  of  life  afford  relief, 

Partake  my  joys,  and  sympathize  «iy  grief; 

Unshaken,  walk  in  virtue's  peaceful  road, 

Nor  bribe  her  reason  to  pursue  the  mode  ; 

Mild  as  the  saint  whose  errors  are  forgiv'n 

Calm  as  a  vestal,  and  compos'd  as  heav'n. 

This  be  the  partner,  this  the  lovely  wife 

That  should  embellish  and  prolong  my  life  ; 

A  nymph  !  who  might  a  second  fall  inspire, 

And  fill  a  glowing  Cherub  with  desire  ! 

With  her  I'd  spend  the  pleasurable  day, 

While  fleeting  minutes  gayly  danc'd  away  : 

With  her  Fd  walk,  delighted  o"er  the  green, 

Through  ev'ry  blooming  mead,  and  rural  scene. 

Or  sit  in  open  fields  damask'd  with  flow'rs, 

Or  where  cool  shades  imbrown  the  noon-tide  bow'rs 

Imparadis'd  within  my  eager  arms, 

I'd  reign  the  happy  monarch  of  her  charms  ; 

Oft'  on  her  panting  bosom  would  I  lay, 

And,  in  dissolving  raptures,  melt  away  ; 

Then  lull'd  by  nightingales,  to  balmy  rest, 

My  blooming  fair  shou'd  slumber  at  my  breast. 


APPENDIX.  337 

And  when  decyepid  age  (frail  mortals  doom  !) 
.-Should  bend  my  withered  body  to  the  tomb, 
No  warbling  Syrens  should  retard  my  flight 
To  heav'nly  mansions  of  unclouded  light. 
Though  Death  with  his  imperial  horrors  crown'd 
Terrific  grin'd,  and  formidably  frown'd, 
Offences  pardon 'cl,  and  remitted  sin, 
Should  form  a  calm  serenity  within  t 
Blessing  my  natal  and  my  mortal  hour, 
(My  soul  committed  to  th'  eternal  pow'r) 
inexorable  Death  should  smile,  for  I 
Who  knew  to  LIVE,  would  never  fear  to  ui£. 


HYMNS. 


HYMN  I. 

^EGIN  the  high  celestial  strain? 

My  ravish'cl  soul,  and  sing 
A  solemn  hymn  of  grateful  praise 

To  heaven's  Almighty  King. 
Ye  curling  fountains  as  ye  roll 

Your  silver  waves  along, 
Whisper  to  all  your  verdant  shores 

The  subject  of  my  song. 
"Retain  it  long  y'  echoing   rocks, 

The  sacred  sound  retain, 
And  from  your  hollow  winding  caves 

Return  it  oft  again  : 
Bear  it,  ye  winds  on  all  your  wings 

To  distant  climes  away, 
And  round  the  wide-extended  world 

My  lofty  theme  convey. 
Take  the  glad  burden  of  his  name. 

Ye  clouds,  as  you  arise, 
Whether  to  deck  the  golden  morn, 

Or  shade  the  ev'ning  skies, 
F  f 


APPENDIX. 

Let  harmless  thunders  roll  along 

The  smooth  etherial  plain, 
And  answer  from  the  chrystal  vault 

To  ev'ry  flying  strain. 
Long  let  it  warble  round  the  spheres 

And  echo  through  the  sky, 
Till  angels,  with  immortal  skill, 

Improve  the  harmony. 
While  I,  with  sacred  rapture  fir'd, 

The  blest  Creator  sing, 
And  warble  consecrated  lays 

To  heaven's  Almighty  King. 

HYMN  II — On  HEAVEN 

HAIL  sacred  Salem  !  plac'd  on  high, 
Seat  of  the  mighty  King  ! 
What  thought  can  grasp  thy  boundless  bliss  ! 

What  tongue  thy  glories  oing  ? 
Thy  chrystal  tow'rs  and  palaces 

Magnificently  rise, 
And  dart  their  beauteous  lustre 

Round  the  empyrean  skies. 
The  voice  of  triumph  in  thy  streets 

And  acclamations  sound  : 
Gay  banquets  in  thy  splendid  courts, 

And  purest  joys  abound. 
Bright  smiles  on  every  face  appear. 

Rapture  in  every  eye  : 
From  every  mouth  glad  anthems  flow. 

And  charming  harmony. 
Illustrious  day  for  ever  there 

Streams  from  the  face  divine  ; 
No  pale-fac'd  moon  e'er  glimmers  forth, 

Nor  stars,  nor  sun  decline. 
No  scorching  heats,  no  piercing  colds, 

The  changing  seasons  bring  ; 
But  o'er  the^fields  mild  breezes  there 

Breathe  an  eternal  spring. 
The  flowers  with  lasting  beauty  shine, 

And  deck  the  smiling  ground  : 
While  flowing  streams  of  pleasure  all 

The  happy  plains  surround. 


APPENDIX.  339 

HYMN  III.— The  CREATION. 

NOW  let  the  spacious  world  arise, 
Said  the  Creator  Lord  : 
At  once  th'  obedient  earth  and  skies 

Rose  at  his  sov'reign  word. 
Dark  was  the  deep,  the  waters  lay 

Confus'd  and  drown'd  the  land  : 
lie  call'd  the  light,  the  new-born  day: 

Attends  on  his  command. 
He  bids  the  clouds  ascend  on  high; 

The  clouds  ascend,  and  bear 
A  wat'ry  treasure  to  the  sky, 

And  float  on  softer  air. 
The  liquid  Element  below, 

Was  gather'd  by  his  hand  ; 
The  rolling  seas  together  flow, 

And  leave  a  solid  land. 
With  herbs  and  plants  (a  flov/ry  birth) 

The  naked  globe  he  crown'd, 
Ere  there  was  rain  to  bless  the  earth? 

Or  sun  to  warm  the  ground. 
Then  he  adorn'd  the  upper  skies, 

Behold  the  sun  appears  ; 
The  moon  and  stars  in  order  rise, 

To  mark  our  months  and  years. 
Out  of  the  deep  th'  Almighty  King 

Did  vital  beings  frame, 
And  painted  fowls  of  ev'ry  wing, 

And  fish  of  every  name. 
He  gave  the  lion  and  the  worm 

At  once  their  wond'rous  birth  : 
And  grazing  beasts  of  various  form 

Rose  from  the  teeming  earth. 
Adam  was  form'd  of  equal  clay, 

The  sov'reign  of  the  rest  ; 
Design'd  for  nobler  ends  than  they? 

With  God's  own  image  blest. 
Thus  glorious  in  the  Maker's  eye 

The  young  Creation  stood  ; 
He  saw  the  building  from  on  high, 

His  word  pronounc'cl  it  good* 


>  APPENDIX. 

The  LORD'S  PRAYER. 

FATHER  of  all  !  we  bow  lo  thee 
Who  dwells  in  heaven  ador'd  ; 
But  present  still  through  all  thy  works 

The  universal  Lord. 
All  hallow'd  be  thy  sacred  name, 

O'er  all  the  nations  known  ; 
Advance  the  kingdom  of  thy  grace, 

And  let  thy  glory  come. 
A  grateful  homage  may  we  yield, 

With  hearts  resign'd  to  thee  ; 
And  as  in  heaven  thy  will  is  done, 

On  earth  so  let  it  be. 
From  day  to  day  we  humbly  own- 

The  hand  that  feeds  us  still  : 
Give  us  our  bread,  and  we  may  rest 

Contented  in  thy  will. 
Our  sins  and  trespasses  we  own  ; 

O  may  they  be  forgiv'n  ! 
That  mercy  we  to  others  show, 

We  pray  the  like  from  Heaven. 
Our  life  let  still  thy  grace  direct, 

From  evil  guard  our  way, 
And  in  temptation's  fatal  path 

Permit  us  not  to  stray. 
For  thine  the  pow'r,  the  kingdom  thine? 

All  glory's  due  to  thee  : 
Thine  from  eternity  they  were, 

And  thine  shall  ever  be. 

The  UNIVERSAL  PRAYER. 

BY  MR.  POPE. 

BATHER  of  all,  in  ev'ry  age, 

In  ev'ry  clime  ador'd, 
By  saint,  by  savage,  and  by  sage, 

Jehovah,  Jove,  or  Lord  ! 
Thou  great  First  Cause,  least  understood 

Who  all  my  sense  confinM 
To  know  but  this,  that  thou  art  good, 

And  that  myself  am  blind  : 
Yet  gave  me,  in  this  dark  estate. 

To  see  the  good  from  ill  ; 


APPENDIX. 

And  binding  Natiare  fast  in  fate, 

Left  free  the  human  will. 
What  conscience  dictates  to  be  done? 

Or  warns  rne  not  to  do, 
This,  teach  me  more  than  hell  to  shun, 

That,  more  than  heav'n  pursue. 
What  blessings  thy  free  bounty  gives,, 

Let  me  not  cast  away  ; 
For  God  is  paid  when  man  receives, 

T'  enjoy  is  to  obey. 
Yet  not  to  earth's  contracted  span, 

Thy  goodness  let  me  bound, 
Or  think  thee  Lord  alone  of  manj 

When  thousand  worlds  are  round  i 
Let  not  this  weak  unknowing  hand 

Presume  thy  bolts  to  throw, 
And  deal  damnation  round  the  land, 

On  each  I  judge  thy  foe. 
If  I  am  right,  thy  grace  impart, 

Still  in  the  right  to  stay  ; 
If  I  am  wrong,  O  teach  my  heart 

To  find  that  better  way. 
Save  me  alike  from  foolish  pride, 

Or  impious  eli  scon  tent, 
•At  ought  thy  wisdom  has  dcny'd, 

Or  ought  thy  goodness  lent* 
Teach  me  to  feel  another's  woe> 

To  hide  the  fault  I  see  ;. 
That  mercy  I  to  others  show, 

That  mercy  show  to  me. 
Mean  though  I  am,  not  wholly  so, 

Since  quicken'd  by  thy  breath  ; 
Oh  lead  me  wheresoe'er  I  go, 

Through  this  day's  life  or  death- 
This  day  be  bread  and  peace  my  lot  : 

All  else  beneath,  the  sun, 
Thou  know'st  if  best  bestow'd  or  not, 

And  let  thy  will  be  done. 
To  thee,  whose  temple  is  all  space, 

Whose  altar,  earth,  sea,  skies  i 
One  chorus  let  all  being  raise  ! 

All  nature's  incense  rise  ! 
F  f  2 


342  APPENDIX. 

CHARACTER  OF  MAN. 

KNOW  then  thyself  ;  presume  not  God  to  sc •;. 
The  proper  study  of  mankind,  is  man. 
Plac'd  on  this  isthmus  of  a  middle  state, 
A  being  darkly  wise,  and  rudely  great  : 
With  too  much  knowledge  for  the  sceptic  side. 
With  too  much  weakness  for  the  stoic's  pride. 
lie  hangs  between  ;  in  doubt  to  act  or  rest, 
In  doubt,  to  deem  himself  a  God,  or  btast  \ 
In  doubt,  his  mind  or  body  to  prefer  ; 
Born,  but  to  die  ;  and  reas'ning,  but  to  err  :• 
Alike  in  ignorance,  his  reason  such, 
Whether  he  thinks  too  little  or  too  much  : 
Chaos  of  thought  and  passion,  all  confus'd  ; 
Still  by  himself  abus'd,  or  disabus'd  : 
Created,  half  to  rise,  and  half  t©  fall ; 
Great  lord  of  all  things,  yet  a  prey  to  all  : 
Sole  judge  of  truth,  in  endless  error  huiTd  ; 
The  glory,  jest,  and  riddle  of  the  world  I 

WINTER. 

SEE  !  Winter  comes,  to  rule  the  varied  year, 
Sullen  and  sad,  with  all  his  rising  train. 
Vapors,  and  clouds,  and  storms.     Be  these  my  theme  \ 
These,  that  exalt  the  soul  to  solemn  thought, 
And  heavenly  musing.     Welcome,  kindred  glooms  ! 
Congenial  horrors,  hail  !  With  frequent  foot, 
Pleas'd,  have  I,  in  my  cheerful  morn  of  life, 
When,  nurs'd  by  careless  solitude  I  liv'cl, 
And  sung  of  nature  with  unceasing  joy, 
Pleas'd,  have  I  war.dVed  through  your  rough  domain  ; 
Trod  the  pure  virgin-snows,  myself  as  pure  ; 
Heard  the  winds  roar,  and  the  big  torrent  burst  ; 
Or  seen  the  deep  fermenting  tempest  brew'd 
In  the  grim  evening  sky.     Thus  pass  the  time. 
Till,  through  the  lucid  chambers  of  the  south, 
Look'd  out  the  joyous  Spring,  look'd  out,  and  smiTd- 


M 


DOUGLAS'S  ACCOUNT  or  HIMSELF. 
Y  name  is  Norval.     On  the  Grampian  hills 
My  father  feeds  his  flocks  ;  a  frugal  swain. 


APPENDIX.  343 

Whose  constant  cares  were  to  increase  his  store> 

And  keep  his  only  son,  myself,  at  home. 

For  I  had  heard  of  battles,  and  I  long'd 

To  follow  to  the  field  some  warlike  lord  :• 

And  heav'n  soon  granted  what  my  sire  deny'd. 

This  moon  which  rose  last  night,  round  as  my  shield* 

Had  not  yet  fill'd  her  horns  when  by  her  light, 

A  band  of  fierce  barbarians,  from  the  hill 

Rush'd,  like  a  torrent,  down  upon  the  vale, 

Sweeping  our  flocks  and  herds.     The  shepherds  fled 

For  safety  and  for  succor.     I  alone, 

With  bended  bow,  and  quiver  full  of  arrows, 

Hover'd  about  the  enemy,  and  mark'd 

Th6  road  he  took  :  then  hasted  to  my  friends, : 

Whom,  with  a  troop  of  fifty  chosen  men, 

I  met  advancing.     The  pursuit  I  led, 

'Till  we  o'ertook  the  spoil  encumber'd  foe. 

We  fought — and  conquer'd.     Ere  a  sword  was  drawr.i? 

An  arrow,  from  my  bow,  had  pierc'd  their  chief, 

Who  wore,  that  day,  the  arms  which  now  I  wear* 

Returning  home  in  triumph,  I  disdain'd 

The  shepherd's  slothful  life  :  and  having  heard 

That  our  good  king  had  surnmon'd  his  bold  peers> 

To  lead  their  warriors  to  the  Carron  side, 

I  left  my  father's  house,  and  took  with  me 

A  chosen  servant  to  conduct  my  steps 

Yon  trembling  coward  who  forsook  his  master. 
Journeying  with  this  intent,  I  pass'd  these  towers  ;. 
directed,  came  this  day,  to  do 
,  that  gilds  my  humble  name. 

UNT    OF    THE     MANNER     IN     WHICH     HE 
LEARNED   THE    ART   OF  WAR. 

BENEATH  a  mountain's  brow,  the  most  remote 
And  inaccessible  by  shepherds  trod, 
li  a  deep  cave,  dug  by  no  mortal  hand, 
Jft  hermit  liv'd  a  melancholy  man, 
*vVho  was  the  wonder  of  our  warrl'ring  swains. 
Austere  and  lonely,  cruel  to  himself, 
DidflVey  report  him  ;  the  coi-J  ear'h  his  bed, 
r  his  drink;  his  food  the  shep'aerJ's  alms. 


APPENDIX. 

I  went  to  see  him,  and  my  heart  was  touch M 

With  rev'rence  and  with  pity.     Mild  he  spake, 

And,  entering  on  discourse,  such  stories  told, 

As  made  me  oft  revisit  his  sad  cell. 

For  he  had  been  a  soldier  in  his  youth, 

And  fought  in  famous  battles,  when  the  peers 

Qf  Europe,  by  the  bold  Godfredo  led, 

Against  th'  usurping  iniklel  display'd 

The  blessed  cross,  and  won  the  Holy  Land. 

Pleas'd  with  my  admiration,  and  the  fire 

His  speech  struck  from  me,  the  old  man  would  shake 

His  years  away,  and  act  his  young  encounters. 

Then  having  shown  his  wounds,  he'd  sit  him  down, 

And  all  the  live  long  day,  discourse  of  war. 

To  help  my  fancy,  in  the  smooth  green  turf 

He  cut  the  figures  of  the  rnarshali'd  hosts  ; 

Describ'd  the  motions,  and  explain'd  the  use, 

Of  the  deep  column  and  the  lengthen'd  line, 

The  square,  the  crescent,  and  the  phalanx  firm  ; 

For,  all  that  Saracen  or  Christian  knew 

Of  war's  vast  art>  was  to  this  hermit  known* 

Unhappy  man  !. 

Returning  homeward  by  Messina's  port, 
Loaded  with  wealth  and  honors  bravely  won, 
A  rude  and  boist'rous  captain  of  the  sea 
Fasten 'd  a  quarrel  on  him.     Fierce  they  fought ; 
The  stranger  fell,  and  with  his  dying  breath 
Declar'd  his  name  and  lineage  !  Mighty  God  ! 
The  soldier  cry'd,  my  brother  !  Oh  1  my  brother  !. 

They  exchang'd  forgiveness  : 
And  happy,  in  my  mind,  was  he  that  died  : 
For  many  deaths  has  the  survivor  suffer'd. 
In  the  wild  desart  on  a  rock  he  sits, 
Or  on  some  nameless  stream's  untrodden  banks, 
And  ruminates  all  day  his  dreadful  fate. 
At  times,  alas  !  not  in  his  perfect  mind  ! 
Holds  dialogues  with  his  lov'd  brother's  ghost ;. 
And  oft  each  night  forsakes  his  sullen  couch? 
To  make  sad  orisons  for  him  he  slew. 


A  P  P_E  N  D  I  X.  345 

BAUCIS  AND  PHILEMON. 

IN  ancient  times,  as  story  tells, 
The  saints  would  often  leave  their  cells, 
And  stroll  about ;  but  hide  their  quality, 
To  try  good  people's  hospitality. 

It  happen'd,  on  a  winter  night, 
As  authors  of  the  legend  write, 
Two  brother-hermits,  saints  by  trade, 
Taking  their  tower  in  masquerade, 
Disguis'd  in  tatter'd  habits,  went, 
To  a  small  village  down  in  Kent ; 
Where,  in  the  stroller's  canting  strain, 
They  begg'd,  from  door  to  door,  in  vain  ; 
Tri'd  every  tone  might  pity  win  ; 
But  not  a  soul  would  let  them  in. 

Our  wund'ringf  saints,  in  woeful  state, 
Treated  at  this  ungodly  rate, 
Having  through  all  the  village  pass'd, 
To  a  small  cottage  came  at  Ia*t7 
Where  dwelt  a  good  old  honest  yeoman, 
Call'd  in  the  neighborhood,  Philemon  j 
Who  kindly  did  these  saints  invite 
In  his  poor  hut  to  pass  the  night ; 
And,  then  the  hospitable  sire 
Bid  goody  Baucis  mend  the  fire  ; 
While,  he  from  out  the  chimney,  took 
A  flitch  of  Bacon  off  the  hook, 
And,  freely  from  the  fattest  side, 
Ci»t  out  large  slices  to  be  fry'd  ; 
Then  stept  aside,  to  fetch  them  drink? 
Fill'd  a  large  jug  up  to  the  brink  : 
Then  saw  it  fairly  twice  go  round  ; 
Yet  (what  is  wonderful)  they  found 
'Twas  still  replenished  to  the  top, 
As  if  they  had  not  touch'd  a  drop. 

The  good  old  couple  were  amaz'd, 
And  often  on  each  other  gaz'd  ; 
For  both  were  frighten'd  to  the  heart, 
And  just  began  to  cry — What  art ! 
Then  softly  turn'd  aside,  to  view 
Whether  the  lights  were  turning  h!ue? 


346  A  P  P  E  N  D  I  X. 

The  gentle  pilgrims,  soon  aware  on't, 
Told  them  their  calling,  and  their  errand  ; 
"  Good  folks,  you  need  not  be  afraid  ; 
'  We  are  but  saints,"  thjjyiermits  said  ; 
"  No  hurt  shall  come  lo  you  or  yours  ; 
"  But  for  that  pack  ofcurlish  boors, 
"  Not  fit  to  live  on  Christian  ground, 
"  They,  and  their  houses,  shall  be  drown'd  ; 
"  While  you  see  your  cottage  rise, 
44  And  grow  a  church  before  your  eyes." 

They  scarce  had  spoke,  when,  fair  and  soft. 
The  roof  began  to  mount  aloft ; 
Aloft  rose  every  beam  and  rafter  ; 
The  heavy  wall  elimb'd  slowly  after. 
The  chimney  widen'd  and  grew  higher, 
Became  a  steeple  with  a  spire. 
The  kettle  to  the  top  was  hoist ; 
With  upside  down,  doom'd  there  to  dwell* 
'Tis  now  no  kettle,  but  a  bell. 
A  wooden  jack,  which  had  almost 
Lost,  by  disuse,  the  art,  to  roast, 
A  sudden  alteration  feels, 
Increased  by  new  intestine  wheels  : 
And,  strait,  against  the  steeple  rear'd 
Became  a  clock  and  still  adher'd  : 
And,  now,  in  love  to  household  cares, 
By  a  shrill  voice,  the  hour  declares, 
Warning  the  housemaid,  not  to  burn 
The  roast- meat  which  it  cannot  turn. 
The  easy  chair  began  to  crawl, 
Like  a  huge  snail,  along  the  wall ; 
There,  stuck  aloft,  hi  public  view, 
And,  with  small  change,  a  pulpit  grew, 
A  bed-stead  of  the  antique  mode, 
Made  up  of  timber  many  a  lead. 
Such  as  our  ancestors  did  use, 
Was  metaraorphos'd  into  pews  : 
Which  still  their  ancient  nature  keep, 
By  lodging  folks  disposed  to  sleep. 

'The  cottage,  by  such  feats  as  thesfc, 
Grown  to  a  church  by  just  degrees  : 
The  hermits  then  desir'd  their  host 
To  ask  for  what  they  fancied  most. 


APPENDIX.  247 

Philemon,  having  paus'd  a  while, 
Return'd  them  thanks  in  homely  style  ; 
Then  said — "  My  house  is  grown  so  fine? 
"  Methinks  I  still  would  call  it  mine  ; 
"  I'm  old,  and  feign  would  live  at  ease — • 
u  Make  me  the  parson,  if  ye  please." 
He  spoke — and  presently,  he  feels 
His  grazier's  coat  fall  down  his  heels : 
He  sees,  yet  hardly  can  believe. 
About  each  arm,  a  pudding  skeve  ; 
His  waistcoat  to  a  cassock  grew  ; 
And  both  assum'd  a  sable  hue  : 
But,  being  old,  continued  just 
As  thread-bare,  and  as  full  of  dust. 
His  talk  was  now  of  tithes  and  clues  ; 
He  smoakM  his  pipe,  and  read  the  news  ; 
Knew  how  to  preach  old  sermons  next ; 
Vamp'd  in  the  preface  and  the  text : 
At  christ'nings,  well  could  act  his  part, 
And  had  the  service  ai!  by  heart  : 
Found  his  head  fill'd  with  many  a  system  ; 
But  classic  aitthors-~-he  ne'er  miss'd  'em. 

Thus,  having  furnish'd  up  a  parson, 
Dame  Baucis  next,  they  play'd  their  farce  on,-. 
Instead  of  homespun  coifs,  were  seen, 
Good  pinners,  edg'd  with  colberteen  ; 
Her  petticoat  transform Jd  apace, 
Became  black  sattin,  flounc'd  with  lace. 
Plain  Goody  would  no  longer  down  ; 
'Twas  Madam,  in  her  grogram  gown. 
Philemon  was  in  great  surprise. 
And  hardly  could  believe  his  eyes  ; 
Amaz'd  to  see  her  look  so  prim, 
And  she  admire!  as  much  at  him. 

Thus  happy  in  their  change  of  life, 
Were,  several  ye  rs  this  man  and  wife  ; 
When,  on  a  day  (which  prov'd  their  last) 
Discoursing  o'er  old  stories  past, 
They  went,  by  chance,  amidst  their  talk, 
To  the  Church-yard,  to  take  a  walk  ; 
When  Baucis  hastily  cried  out, 
i$  My  dear  I  see  your  forehead  sprout." 


APPENDIX. 

"  Sprout  1"  quoth  the  man,  "  what's  this  you  tell  us, 

4<  I  hope  you  don't  believe  me  jealous  : 

"  But  yet  methinks  I  feel  it  true  : 

"  And,  really,  yours  is  budding  too— • 

u  Nay,  now  1  cannot  stir  my  foot ; 

u  It  feels  as  if  'twere  taking  root." 

Description  would  but  tire  my  muse  : 

In  short  they  both  were  turn'd  to — yews* 

Old  Goodman  Dobson  of  the  green, 
Hemembers,  he  the  trees  fias  seen  : 
He'll  talk  of  them  from  morn  to  night, 
And  goes  with  foolks  to  show  the  sight. 
On  Sundays,  after  evening  prayer, 
He  gathers  all  the  parish  there  ; 
Points  out  the  place  of  either  yew  ; 
"  Here  Baucis,  there  Philemon  grew  ; 
IC  Till,  once,  a  parson  of  our  town, 
*'  To  mend  his  barn,  cut  Baucis  down  ; 
44  At  which,  'tis  hard  to  be  believ'd 
"  How  much  the  other  tree  was  griev'd  ; 
61  Grew  scrubby,  died  a-top,  was  stunted  ; 
"  So  the  next  parson  stubb'd,  and  burnt  it." 

ON  HAPPINESS. 
H  happiness  !  our  being's  end  and  aim, 

Good,  pleasure,  ease,  content !  whate'er  thy  name  '. 
That  something  still  which  prompts  th'  eternal  sigh. 
For  which  we  bear  to  live,  or  dare  to  die  : 
Which  still  so  near  us,  yet  beyond  us  lies, 
O'erlook'd,  seen  double,  by  the  fool,  and  wise  : 
Plant  of  celestial  seed  !  if  drop'd  below, 
Say,  in  what  mortal  soil  thou  deign'st  to  grow  : 
Fair  op'ning  to  some  court's  propitious  shrine  ; 
Or  deep  with  di'monds  in  the  flaming  mine  ? 
'Twin'd  with  wreaths  Parnassian  raurels  yield  ; 
Or  reap'd  in  iron  harvests  of  the  lield. 
Where  grows  ?  where  grows  it  not  ?  If  vain  our  toil? 
We  ought  to  blame  the  culture,  not  the  soil. 
Fix'd  to  no  spot  is  happiness  sincere  ; 
'Tis  no  where  to  be  found,  or  ev'ry  where. 

Order  is  heav'n's  first  law  :  and  this  confest, 
Seme  are  and  must  be  greater  than  the  rest  j 


APPENDIX.  34') 

More  rich,  more  wise.     But,  who  infers  from  hence 

That  such  are  happier,  shocks  all  common  sense, 

Heaven  to  mankind  impartial  we  confess, 

If  all  are  equal  in  their  happiness. 

But  mutual  wants  this  happiness  increase  : 

All  nature's  difference  keeps  all  nature's  peace 

Condition,  circumstance  is  not  the  thing  ; 

Bliss  is  the  same  in  subject,  or  in  king  : 

In  who  obtain  defence,  or  who  defend  ; 

In  him  who  is,  or  him  who  finds  a  friend. 

^Fortune  her  gifts  may  variously  dispose, 
And  these  be  happy  cali'd,  unhappy  those  ; 
But  heaven's  just  balance  equal  will  appear, 
While  those  .are  plac'cl  in  hope,  and  these  in  fear  ; 
-Nor  present  good  or  ill,  the  joy  or  curse, 
But  future  views  of  better,  or  cf  worse. 

Oh,  sons  of  earth  !  attempt  ye  still  to  rise, 
By  mountains  pil'd  on  mountains,  to  the  sides  ? 
Heaven  still,  with  laughter,  the  vain  toil  surveys, 
And  buries  madmen  in  the  heaps  they  raise. 

Know,  all  the  good  that  individuals  find, 

God  and  nature  meant  to  mere  mankind, 
'•Reason's  whole  pleasure,  all  the  joys  of  sense, 

in  three  words — Health,  Peace  and  Competence. 

SP.EECH  OF  ADAM  TO  EYE. 

N'OW,  rnorn,  her  rosy  steps  in  th'  eastern  clime 
Advancing-,  sow'd  the  earth  v;ith  orient  pearl, 
When  Adam  wak'd,  so  custom'd  ;  for  his  sleep 
Was  airy  light,  from  pure  digestion  bred, 
\ikl  temp'rate  vapors  bland,  which  th'  only  sound 
Of  leaves  and  fuming  rills,  Aurora's  fan, 
Lightly  dispers'd,  and  the  shrill  matin  song 
Of  birds  on  ev'ry  bough.     So  much  the  more 
His  wonder  was  to  find  un awaken 'd  Eve 
With  tresses  discompos'd,  and  glov/ing  cheek, 
As  through  unquiet  rest.     Pie,  on  his  side 
Leaning  half  rais'd,  with  looks  of  cordial  love. 
Hung  over  her  enamor'd  ;   and  beheld 
Beauty,  which,  whether  waking  or  asleep, 
Shot  forth  peculiar  graces.     Then,  with  voice 
Mild  as  when  Zephyrus  on  Flora  breathes, 


350  A  P  P  E  N  D  I  X. 

Her  hand  soft  touching,  whisper'd  thus  :  "  Awake, 

My  fairest,  my  espous'd,  my  latest  found  ; 
a  Heaven's  last  best  gift,  my  ever  new  delight, 
•'  Awake  ! — The  morning  shines,  and  the  fresh  field 
"  Calls  us.     We  lose  the  prime  ;  to  mark  how  spring 
14  Our  tender  plants  ;   how  blows  the  citron  grove  ; 
4i  What  drops  the  myrrh,  and  what  the  balmy  reed  . 
"  How  nature  paints  her  colors  ;  how  the  bee 
"  Sits  on  the  bloom,  extracting  liquid  sweet, 

Sotiloyity  and  Prayer  of  Edward  the  black  prince ,  befor?  the 
battle  of  Pole  tiers. 

THE  hour  advances,  the  decisive  hour 
That  lifts  me  to  the  summit  of  renown, 
Or  leaves  me  on  the  earth  a  breathless  corse. 
The  buz  and  bustle  of  the  field  before  me  ; 
The  twang  of  bow-strings,  and  the  clash  of  spears  ; 
With  ev'ry  circumstance  of  preparation  ; 
Strike  with  an  awful  horror  !  Shouts  are  echo'dj 
To  drown  dismay,  and  blow  up  resolution 
Even  to  its  utmost  swell. — From  hearts  so  firm5 
Whom  dangers  fortify,  and  toils  inspire. 
What  has  a  leader  not  to  hope  ?  And,  yet, 
The.  weight  of  apprehension  sinks  me  clown.-— • 
"  O  Soul  of  Nature  !  great  eternal  cause, 

Who  gave,  and  govern'st  all,  that's  here  below  : 
'Tis  by  the  aid  of  thy  almighty  arm 
The  weak  exist,  the  virtuous  are  secure. 
If,  to  your  sacred  laws  obedient  ever, 
My  sword,  my  soul,  have  own'd  no  other  guide  s 
"  Oh!  if  your  honor,  if  the  rights  of  men, 
"  My  country's  happiness,  my  king's  renown, 
"  Were  motives  worthy  of  a  warrior's  zeal, 

Crown  your  poor  servant  with  success  this  day  ; 
"  And  be  the  praise  and  glory  all  thy  own." 

Invocation  to  Paradise  Lost. 

OF  man's  first  disobedience,  and  the  fruit' 
Of  that  forbidden  tree,  whose  mortal  taste 
Brought  death  into  the  world,  and  all  our  woe, 
Y/ith  loss  of  Eden,  till  one  greater  man 


A  P  r  E  IS          .  -351 

Restore  us,  and  regain  the  b 

Sing*  heav'nly  rnuse  !  thar,  en  fh 

Of  Oreb,  or  of  Sinai;  did  ril  Aspire 

That  shepherd,  who  first  taught  the  cd? 

In  the  beginning,  how  the  hcav'ns  and 

Rose  out  of  chaos  :  or,  if  Sion  hill 

Delight  thee  more,  and  Siloa's  brook  that  fiow'f 

Fast  by  the  oracle  of  God  ;   1  t hence 

Invoke  thy  aid  to  my  adventurous  SGJ 

That,  with  no  middle  -flight,  intends  t., 

Above  th'  Aonian  mount,  while  it  pursues 

Things  unattempted  yet  in  prose  or  rhyme. 

And  chiefly  thoir,  O  spirit  i  that  dost  prefer 

Before  all  temples,  th'  upright  heart  and  pure, 

Instruct  me,  for  thou  know'st ;  thou,  from  the  first, 

Was  present,  and  with  mighty  wings  outspread, 

Dove-like  sat'st  brooding  o'er  the  vast  abyss. 

And  mad'st  it  pregnant :  what  in  me  is  dark* 

Illumine  ;  what  is  low,  raise  and  support  ; 

That,  to  the  height  of  this  great  argument, 

I  may  assert  eternal  providence, 

And  justify  tke  ways  of  God  to  men. 

MORNING  HYMN, 

THESE  are  thy  glorious  works.  Parent  of  good  ! 
Almighty  !  thine  this  universal  frame, 
Thus  wond'rous  fair  :  thyself,  how  wond'rous  then, 
Unspeakable  !   who  sit'st  above  these  heavens, 
To  us  invisible,  or  dimly  seen 
In  these  thy  lowest  works  ;  yet  these  declare 
Thy  goodness  beyond  thought,  and  power  divine.—* 
Speak,  ye  who  best  can  tell,  ye  sons  of  light, 
Angels  !  for  ye  behold  him,  and  with  songs 
And  choral  symphonies,  day  without  night, 
Circle  his  throne,  rejoicing.     Ye  in  heav'n— 
On  earth,  join  all  ye  creatures,  to  extol 
Him  first,  him  last,  him  midst,  and  without  end. 
Fairest  of  stars  !  last  in  the  train  of  night, 
If  better  thou  belong  not  to  the  dawn, 
Sure  pledge  of  day,  that  crown'st  the  smiling  morn 
With  thy  bright  circlet,  praise  him  in  thy  sphere, 


552  APPENDIX. 

While  day  arises,  that  sweet  hour  of  prime, 

Thou  sun  !  of  this  great  world  both  eye  and  souJ, 

Acknowledge  him  thy  greater  :   sound  his  praise 

}n  thy  eternal  course,  both  when  thou  climb'st, 

And  when  high  noon  hast  gain'd,  and  when  thou  fall'st, 

Moon  !  that  now  meet'st  the  orient  sun,  now  fly'st 

With  the  fix'd  stars,  fix'd  in  their  orb  that  flies  ; 

And  ye  five  other  wand'ring  fires  i  that  move 

In  mystic  dance,  not  without  song  ;  resound 

His  praise,  who  out  of  darkness,  call'd  up  light*. 

Air,  and  ye  elements  !  the  eldest  birth 

Of  nature's  womb,  that,  in  quaternion,  run 

Perpetual  circle,  multiform,  and  mix 

And  nourish  all  things  ;  let  your  ceaseless  change 

Vary,,  to  our  great  Maker,  still  new  praise. 

Ye  mists  and  exhalations  !  that  now  rise 

From  hill  or  streaming  lake,  dusky  or  grey, 

Till  the  sun  paint  your  fleecy  skirts  with  gold, 

In  honor  of  the  world's  great  Author,  rise  ; 

Whether  to  deck  with  clouds,  th'  uncolor'd  sky* 

Or  wet  the  thirsty  earth  with  falling  show'rs, 

Rising,  or  falling,  still  advance  his  praise. 

His  praise,  ye  winds  !  that  from  four  quarters  blow, 

Breathe  softer  loud  1  and  wave  your  tops,  ye  pines  I 

With  ev'ry  plant,  in  sign  of  worship,  wave. 

Fountains  !  and  ye  that  warble,  as  ye  flow, 

Melodious  murmurs,  warbling,  tune  his  praise. — 

Join  voices,  all  ye  living  souls.     Ye  birds, 

That,  singing,  up  to  heaven-gate  ascend, 

Bear,  on  your  wings,  and  in  your  notes  his  praise.— 

Ye,  that  m  waters  glide  !   and  ye,  that  w«;lk 

The  earth,  and  stately  tread,  or  lowly  creep  ! 

Witness,  if  I  be  silent,  morn  or  cv'n, 

To  hill,  or  valley,  fountain,  or  fresh  shade. 

Made  vocal  by  my  song,  and  taught  his  praise.— 

Hail5  universal  Lord  I  be  bounteous  still, 

To  give  us  only  good  :   and  if  the  night 

Have  gather'd  ought  of  evil,  or  conceal'd— . 

Disperse  it,  as  now  light  dispels  the  dark*. 


APPENDIX.  333 

THE  HERMIT — BY  DR.  BEATIE, 

AT  the  close  of  the  day,  when  the  hamlet  is  still, 
And  mortals  the  sweets  of  forgetfulness  prove  > 
When  nought,  but  the  torrent  is  heard  on  the  hill ; 
And  nought,  but  the  nightingale's  song,  in  the  grove  : 
*Twas  then,  by  the  cave  of  the  mountain  afar, 
A  hermit  his  song  of  the  night  thus  began  ; 
No  more  with  himself,  or  with  nature,  at  war, 
He  thought  as  a  sage,  while  he  felt  as  a  man. 

"  Ah  I  why  thus  abandon 'd  to  darkness  and  woe  ? 
"  Why  thus,  lonely  Philomel,  flows  thy  sad  strain  ? 
"•  For  spring  shall  return,  and  a  lover  bestow, 
"  And  thy  bosom  no  trace  of  misfortune  retain. 
u  Yet,  if  pity  inspire  thee,  ah  i  cease  not  thy  lay  ; 
"  Mourn  sweetest  complainer,  man  calls  thee  to  mourn  .' 
"  Oh  !  soothe  him,  whose  pleasures,  like  thine  pass  a 
"  Full  quickly  they  pass — but  they  never  return. 

"  Now,  gliding  remote,  on  the  verge  of  the  s 
"  The  moon  half  extinguish';},  her  crescent  display 
u  But  lately  I  mark'd,  when  majestic  en  high 
"  She  shone,  and  the  planets  were  lost  in  her  blaze- 
"  Roll  on,  thou  fair  orb  !  and  with  gladness,  purs 
i(  The  path  that  conducts  thee  to  splendor  Bgaln— 
"  But  man's  faded  glory  no  change  shall  renew  : 
"  Ah  fool !  to  exult  in  a  glory  so  vain. 

"  'Tis  night,  and  the  landscape  is  lovely  r,o  more  ; 
"  I  mourn  ;  but  ye  woodlands  !  I  mourn  not  for  you  : 
u  For  morn  is  approaching,  your  charms  to  restore, 
"  Perfum'd  with  fresh  fragrance,  and  glitt'ring  widv 
"  Nor,  yet,  for  the  ravage  of  winter  I  mourn  ; 
"  Kind  nature  the  embryo  blossom  will  save — 
"  But,  when  shall  spring  visit  the  movjld'ring  urn  ? 
4<  O  !  when  shall  it  dawn  on  the  night  of  the  grave  1" 

'Twas  thus,  by  the  glare  of  false  science  betray'd, 
That  leads,  to  bewilder  ;  and  dazzles,  tc  blind  ;    . 
My  thoughts  want  to  roam,  from  shade  onward  to  shade, 
Destruction  before  me,  and  sorrow  behind. 
"  O  !  pity,  great  Father  cf  light !"  then  I  cry'd, 
"  Thy  creature,  who  fain  would  not  wander  from  thee  ; 
"  Lo  !  humbled  in  dust,  I  relinquish  my  pride  : 
*'  From  doubt,  and  from  darkness,  thou  only  cansH  free," 
G  K  2 


354  A  P  P  E  N  D  I  X. 

^  And  darkness,  and  doubt,  are  now  flying  away, 
No  longer  I  roam,  in  conjecture  forlorn, 
So  breaks  on  the  traveller,  faint,  and  Jistray, 
The  bright  and  the  balmy  effulgence  of  morn. 
See  truth,  love,  aad  mercy,  in  triumph  descending, 
And  nature  all  glowing  in  Eden's  first  bloom  ! 
On  the  cold  cheek  of  death,  smiles  and  roses  are  blending 
And  beauty  immortal  awakes  from  the  tomb. 

COMPASSION. 

PITY  the  sorrows  of  a  poor  old  man, 
Whose  trembling  limbs  have  borne  him  to  your  dootv 
Whose  days  are  dwindled  to  the  shortest  span, 
Oh  !  give  relief  and  heav'n  will  bless  your  store. 
These  tatter 'd  clothes  my  poverty  bespeak, 
Those  hoary  locks  proclaim  my  lengthen'd  years  ; 
And  many  a  furrow  in  my  ^rief  worn  cheek 
Has  been  the  channel  to  a  flood  of  tears. 
Yon  house  erected  on  the  rising  ground, 
With  tempting  aspect,  drew  me  fiom  my  road  ; 
For  plenty  there  a  residence  has  found, 
And  grandeur  a  magnificent  abode. 
Hard  is  the  fate  of  the  infirm  and  poor  ! 
Here,  as  I  crav'd  a  morsel  of  their  bread, 
A  pamper'd  menial  drove  me  from  the  door, 
To  seek  a  shelter  in  an  humbler  shed. 
Oh  1  take  me  to  your  hospitable  dome  ; 
Keen  blows  the  wind,  and  piercing  is  the  cold  : 
Short  is  my  passage  to  the  friendly  tomb. 
For  I  am  poor  and  miserably  old. 
Shoirld  I  reveal  the  sources  of  rny  grief; 
If  soft  humanity  e'er  touch'd  your  breast, 
Your  hands  would  not  withhold  the  kind  relief, 
And  tears  of  pity  would  not  be  represt. 
Heav'n  sends  misfortunes  ;  why  should  we  repine  : 
'Tis  heav'n  has  brought  me  to  the  state  you  see  ; 
And  your  condition  may  be  soon  like  mine, 
The  child  of  sorrow  and  of  misery. 
A  little  farm  was  my  paternal  lot, 
Then  like  the  lark  I  sprightly  hail'd  the  morn  i 
But,  ah  !  oppression  forc'd  me  from  my  cot, 
My  cuttle  dy  \1,  and  blighted  was  my  com. 


APPENDIX*  3. 

My  daughter,  once  the  comfort  of  my  age, 
Lur'd  by  a  villain  from  her  native  home, 
Is  cast  abandoned  on  the  world's  wide  stage^ 
And  doom'd  in  scanty  poverty  to  roam, 
My  tender  wife,  sweet  soother  of  my  care, 
Struck  with  sad  anguish  at  the  stern  decree, 
Fell,  lingering  fell,   a  victim  to  despair, 
And  left  the  world  to  wretchedness  and  me. 

Pity  the  sorrows  of  a  poor  old  man, 
Whose  trembling  limbs  have  borne  him  to  your  door* 
Whose  days  are  dwindled  to  the  shortest  span, 
Oh  !  give  relief,  and  heav'nwill  bless  your  store.. 

ADVANTAGES  OF  PEACE. 

Oil,  first  of  human  blessings  and  supreme  ! 
Fair  Peace  !  how  lovely,  how  delightful  thou  ! 
By  whose  wide  tie,  the  kindred  sons  of  men. 
Like  brothers  live,  in  amity  combin'd, 
And  unsuspicious  faith  :   while  honest  toil 
Gives  ev'ry  joy  ;  and,  to  those  joys,  a  right, 
Which  idle,  barbarous  rapine  but  usurps. 
Pure  is  my  reign  ;•  when  unaccurs'd  by  blood, 
Nought,  save  the  sweetness  of  indulgent  show'rs5 
Trickling,  distils  into  the  verdant  glebe  ; 
Instead  of  mangled  carcases,  sad  scene  1 
When  the  btythe  sheaves  lie  scattered  o'er  the  field1. 
When  only  shining  shares,  the  crooked  knife, 
And  hooks  imprint  the  vegetable  wound  ; 
When  the  land  blushes  with  the  rose  alone, 
The  falling  fruitage,  and  the  bleeding  vine. 
Oh,  Peace  !  thou  source,  and  soul  of  social  Hfe  1 
Beneath  whose  calm  inspiring  influence, 
Science  his  views  enlarges,  art  refines, 
And  swelling  commerce  opens  ail  her  ports — - 
Bless'd  be  the  man  divine,  who  gives  us  thee  1 
Who  bids  the  trumpet  hush  its  horrid  clang. 
Nor  blow  the  giddy  nations  into  rage  ; 
Who  sheathes  the  murd'rous  blade  ;  the  deadly  gu»- 
Into  the  well-pil'd  armory  returns  ; 
And,  ev'ry  vigor  from  the  work  of  death, 
To  grateful  industry  converting,  makes 
The  country  flourish^  and  the  city  smile  I 


356  APPENDIX. 

Unviolated,  him  the  virgin  sings  ; 

And  him,  the  smiling  mother,  to  her  train. 

Of  him,  the  shepherd,  in  the  peaceful  dale, 

Ghants  ;  and  the  treasures  of  his  labor  sure, 

The  husbandman,  of  him,  as  at  the  plough, 

Or  team,  he  toils.     With  him  the  sailor  sooths., 

Beneath  the  trembling  moon,  the  midnight  wave5 

And  the  full  city,  warm,  from  street  to  street, 

And  shop  to  shop,  responsive  rings  oF  him, 

Nor  joys  one  land  alone  :  his  praise  extends. 

Far  as  the  sun  rolls  the  diffusive  day  ; 

Far  as  the  breeze  can  bear  the  gifts  of  peace  ; 

Till  all  the  happy  nations  catch  the  song. 

PROGRESS  OF  LIFE. 

ALL  the  world's  a  stage, 
Afid  all  the  men  and  women  merely  players  ; 
They  have  their  exits  and  their  entrances  ; 
And  one  man  in  his  time  plays  many  parts  ; 
His  acts  being  seven  ages*     At  first  the  infant, - 
Mewling  and  puking  in  his  Nurse's  arms  y 
And  then  the  whining  school  boy  with  his  satchel). . 
And  shining  morning  face,  creeping  like  snail 
Unwillingly  to  school.     And  then,  the  lover, 
Sighing  like  furnace  with  a  woful  ballad 
Made  to  his  mistress7  eye-brow.     Then,  a  soldier. 
Full  of  strange  oaths,  and  bearded  like  the  pard. 
Jealous  in  honor,  sudden  and  quick  in  quarrel, 
Seeking  the  bubble  reputation, 
Ev'n  in  the  cannon's  mouth.    And  then,  tl.^  justice* 
In  fair  round- belly,  Tvith  good  capon  lin'd  ; 
With  eyes  severe  and  beard  of  formal  cut. 
Full  of  wise  laws,  and  modern  instances, 
And  so  he  plays  his  part.    The  sixth  age  shifts 
Into  the  lean  and  slipper'd  pantaloon, 
Y/ith  spectac!es,on  nose,  and  pouch  on  side, 
His  youthful  hose  \vell  sav'cl,  a  world  too  wide 
For  bis  shrunk  shank  ;  and  his  big  manly  voice 
Turning  arain  towards  childish  treble,  pipes, 
And  whistiw-  ;n  his  sound.     Last  scene  of  all    . 
That  ends  this  strange  eventful  history, 
Is  second  childishness,  and  mere  cblivion  ; 
Sans  teeth,  sans  eyes,  sans  taste,  sans  ev'ry  thing. 


A  P  P  E  N  D  I  X.  357 

SPEECHES  IN  THE  ROMAN  SENATE. 

CATO. 

TFT^ATHERS  I  we  once  again  are  met  in  council. 
JL     Cresar's  approach  has  sumrnon'd  us  together, 
And  Rome  attends  her  fate  from  our  resolves. 
How  shall  we  treat  this  bold  aspiring  man  ? 
Success  still  follows  him,  and  backs  his  crimes. 
Pharsalia  gave  him  Rome.     Egypt  has  since 
Receiv'd  his  yoke,  and  the  whole  Nile  is  Cassar's. 
Why  should  I  mention  Juba's  overthrow, 
And  Scipio's  death  ?   Numidia's  burning  sands 
Still  smoke  with  blood.     'Tis  time  we  should  decree 
What  course  to  take.     Our  foe  advances  on  us, 
And  envies  us  ev'n  Libia's  sultry  deserts. 
Fathers  pronounce  your  thoughts.     Are  they  still  fixM 
To  hold  it  out  and  fight  it  to  the  last  ? 
Or,  are  your  hearts  subdu'd,  at  length,  and  wrought* 
By  time  and  ill  success  to  a  submission  ? — 
Sempronius,  speak. 

SEMPHONIUS, 
My  voice  is  still  for  war. 
Gods  !  can  a  Roman  senate  long  debate 
Which  of  the  two  to  choose,  slavery  or  death  ? 
No — let  us  rise  at  once  :  Gird  on  our  swords  ; 
And,  at  the  head  of  our  remaining  troops, 
Attack  the  foe  ;  break  through  the  thick  array 
Of  his  thronged  legions  ;  and  charge  home  upon  him. 
Perhaps,  some  arm  more  lucky  than  the  rest, 
May  reach  his  heart,  and  free  the  world  from  bondage* 
Rise,  Fathers,  rise  !   'Tis  Rome  demands  yovir  help  : 
Rise,  and  revenge  her  slanghter'd  citizens, 
Or  share  their  fate  i  The  corps  of  half  her  senate 

,'jre  the  fields  of  Thessaly,  while  we 
Sit  here,  deliberating  in  cold  debates  : 
If  we  should  sacrifice  our  lives  to  honor, 
Or  wear  them  out  in  servitude  and  chains. 

:se  up.  for  shame  !   Our  brothers  of  Pharsalia 
Point  at  their  wounds,  and  cry  aloud — to  battle  ! 
i  Pcmpey's  s-haiie  complains  that  we  are  slow  : 
i  c  v  e  n  g  'd  am  on  g  s  t  us! 


:!5fi  Apr  E  N  D  I  X. 

CATO. 

Let  not  a  torrent  of  impetuous  zeal 
Transport  thee  thus  beyond  the  bounds  of  reason; 
True  fortitude  is  seen  in  great  exploits, 
That  justice  warrants,  and  that  wisdom  guides  ; 
AH  else,  is  tow'ring  frenzy  and  distraction. 
Are  not  the  lives  of  those  who  draw  the  sword 
In  Rome's  defence,  entrusted  to  our  care  ? 
Should  we  thus  lead  them  to  a  field  of  slaughter, 
Might  not  th'  impartial  world,  with  reason,  say 
We  lavished,  at  our  deaths,  the  blood  of  thousands/ 
To  grace  our  fall,  and  make  our  ruin  glorious  ? 
Lucius,  we  next  would  know  what's  your  opinion. 

Lucius. - 

My  thoughts,  I  must  confess,  are  turn'd  on  peace* 
Already  have  our  quarrels  fill'd  the  world 
•  With  widows  and  with  orphans.     Scythia  mourns 
Our  guilty  wars,  and  earth's  remotest  regions 
Lie  half  unpeopled  by  the  feuds  of  Rome. 
'Tis  time  to  sheathe  the  sword,  and  spare  mankinds 
It  is  not  Caesar,  but  the  gods,  my  fathers  I 
The  gods  declare  against  us,  and  repel 
Our  vain  attempts.     To  urge  the  foe  to  battle, 
(Prompted  by  blind  revenge  and  wild  despair) 
Were  to  refuse  th'  awards  of  Providence, 
And  not  to  rest  in  heav'n's  determination. 
Already  have  we  shown  our  love  to  Rome  s 
Now,  let  us  show  submission  to  the  gods. 
We  took  up  arms  not  to  revenge  ourselves, 
But  free  the  commonwealth.     When  this  end  fails. 
Arms  have  no  further  use.     Our  country's  cav.se. 
That  drew  our  swords,  now  wrests  'em  from  our  hands, 
And  bids  us  not  delight  in  Roman  blood 
Unprofitably  shed.     What  men  could  do 
Is  done  already.     Heav'n  and  earth  will  witness* 
If  Rome  must  fall,  that  we  are  innocent. 

-CATO. 

Let  us  appear,  not  rash,  nor  diffident; 
ImmodYate  valor  swells  into  a  fault  ; 


APPENDIX.  359 

And  fear  admitted  into  public  councils, 

Betrays  like  treason.     Let  us  shun  'em  both.-<- 

Fathers  I  cannot  see  that  our  affairs 

Are  grown  thus  desperate.     We  have  bulwarks  round  us  ; 

Within  our  walls,  are  troops  inur'd  to  toil 

In  Afric  heats,  and  season'd  to  the  sun. 

Numidia's  spacious  kingdom  lies  behind  us, 

Ready  to  rise  at  its  young  prince's  call. 

While  there  is  hope,  do  not  distrust  the  gods  : 

But  wait,  at  least,  till  Caesar's  near  approach 

Force  us  to  yield.     'Twill  never  be  too  late 

To  sue  for  chains,  and  own  a  conqueror. 

Why  should  Rome  fall  a  moment  ere  her  time  ? 

No  let  us  draw  our  term  of  freedom  out 

In  its  full  length,  and  spin  it  to  the  last  : 

So  shall  we  gain  still  one  day's  liberty. 

And,  let  me  perish  ;  but,  in  Cato's  judgment, 

A  day,  an  hour,  of  virtuous  liberty, 

'is  worth  a  whole  eternity  .of  bondage. 

CATO  solus,  sitting  in  a  thoughtful  posture  •:  In  fits  hand 
Plato's  book  on  the  immortality  of  the  &cul.  A  drawn 
titvord  en  the  tabl€  by  him.. 

>T  must  be  sc — Plato,  thou  reason'st  well  ! 

Else,  whence  this  pleasing  hope,  this  fond  desire., 
This  longing  aftef  immortality  •? 
-Or  whence  this  secret  dread,  and  inward  horror, 
Or  falling  into  nought  ?  Why  shrinks  the  soul 
Back  on  herself,  and  startles  at  destruction  ? 
;Tis  the  divinity  that  stirs  within  us  : 
'Tis  heav'n  itself,  that  points  out — an  hereafter, 
And  intimates — eternity  to  man. 
Eternity  ! — thou  pleasing — -dreadful  thought  i 
Through  what  variety  of  untry'd  beings, 
Through  what  new  scenes  and  changes  must  we  pass  ! 
The  wide,  the  unbounded  prospect  lies  before  me-~» 
But  shadows,  clouds,  and  darkness,  rest  upon  iUr~- 
Kere  will  I  hold.     If  there's  a  pow'r  above  us, 
(And  that  there  is,  all  nature  cries  aloud 
Through  all  her  works)  he  must  delight  in  virtue  ; 
And  that  which  he  delights  in  must  be  happy. 
;:'at,  when  !  or  where  !  this  world  was  made  for  Caesar, 


360  APPEND!  X. 

Tin  weary  of  conjectures — this  must  end  'em. 

[Laying  his  hand  on  his 

Thus  am  I  doubly  arm'cl  ;  my  death  and  life, 
My  bane  and  antidote  are  both  before  me  : 
This,  in  a  moment  brings  me  to  an  end  ; 
But  this  informs  me  I  shall  never  die. 
The  soul,  secur'd,  in  her  existence,  smiles 
At  the  drawn  dagger,  and  defies  it's  point. 
The  stars  shall  fade  away,  the  sun  himself 
Grow  dim  \vkh  age,  and  nature  sink  in  years  ; 
But  thou  shalt  flourish  in  immortal  youth, 
Unhurt  amidst  the  war  of  elements, 
The  wrecks  of  matter,  and  the  crush  of  worlds. 

What  means  this  heaviness  that  hangs  upon  me  f 
This  lethargy  that  creeps  through  all  my  senses  ? 
Nature  oppress'd  and  harrass'd  out  with  care, 
Sinks  down  to  rest.     This  once  I'll  favor  her, 
That  my  awaken 'd  soul  may  take  her  flight, 
Renew'd  in  all  her  strength,  and  fresh  with  life, 
An  off 'ring  fit  for  Heav'n.     Let  guilt  or  fear 
Disturb  man's  rest ;  Gato  knows  neither  of 'em  ; 
Indiff 'rent  in  his  choice,  to  sleep  or  die. 

HAMLET'S  MEDITATION  ON  DEATH. 

TO  be — or  not  to  be  ? — that  is  the  question.—- 
Whether  'tis  nobler  in  the  mind,  to  sutler 
The  stings  and  arrows  of  outrageous  fortur.e  ; 
Or  to  take  arms  against  a  siege  of  troubles, 
And,  by  opposing,  end  them  ? — To  die — to  sleep — 
No  more  ; — and  by  a  sleep,  to  say  we  end 
The  heart-ache,  and  the  thousand  natural  shocks 
That  flesh  is  heir  to — -'tis  a  consummation 
Devoutly  to  be  wish'd.     To  die — -to  sleep — 
To  sltc-p— • perchance  to  dream- — aye,  there's  the  rub. 
For  in  that  sleep  of  death  what  dreams  may  come, 
When  we  have  shuffled  off  this  mortal  coil, 
Must  give  us  pause. — There's  the  respect 
That  makes  calamity  of  so  long  a  life. 
For,  who  would  bear  the  whips  and  scorns  o'  th*  time,? 
The  oppressor's  wrongs  the  proud  man's  contumely^ 
The  pangs  of  desnis'd  love,  the  laws  delay, 


APPENDIX.  361 

The  insolence  of  office,  and  the  spurns 
That  patient  merit  of  the  unworthy  takes  ; 
When  he  himself  might  his  quietus  make 
With  a  bare  bodkin  ?  Who  would  fardels  bear, 
To  groan  and  sweat  under  a  weary  life  : 
But  that  the  dread  of  something  after  death 
(That  undiscovered  country,  from  whose  bourne 
No  traveller  returns)  puzzles  the  will ; 
And  makes  us  rather  bear  those  ills  we  have, 
Than  fly  to  others  that  we  know  not  of  ? 
Thus  conscience  does  make  cowards  of  us  all  ; 
And  thus  the  native  hue  of  resolution 
Is  sicklied  o'er  with  the  pale  cast  of  thought ; 
And  enterprises  of  great  pith  and  moment, 
With  this  regard,  their  currents  turn  away? 
And  lose  the  name  of  action. 


Select  Passages  from  Dramatic 

EXPRESSIVE    OF    THE 

PRINCIPAL  EMOTIONS  AND  PASSIONS. 
»:-&:«i 

JOY. 

THEN  is  Orestis  blest !  My  griefs  are  fled  ! 
Fled  like  a  dream  ! — Methinks  I  tread  in  air  !— . 
Surprising  happiness  !  unlook'd  for  joy  ! 
Never  let  love  despair  !  The  prize  is  mine  ! — 
Be  smooth,  ye  seas  !  and,  ye  propitious  winds, 
Blow  from  Epirus  to  the  Spartan  coast ! 

GRIEF. 

I'LL  go  ;  and  in  the  anguish  of  my  heart— 
Weep  o'er  my  child — If  he  must  die,  my  life 
Is  wrapt  in  his  ;  I  shall  not  long  survive, 
'Tis  for  his  sake  that  I  have  suffer'd  life  ; 
Groan'd  in  captivity  ;  and  out-liv'cl  Hector. — 
Yes,  my  Astyanax  !  we'll  go  together  ; 
Together— to  the  realms  of  night  we'll  go, 
H  h 


352  APPENDIX. 

PITY. 

^  II ADST  then  but  seen,  as  I  did,  how,  at  last, 
Thy  beauties,  Belvidera,  like  a  wretch 
That's  cloom'd  to  banishment,  came  weeping  forth, 
Whilst  two  young  virgins,  on  whose  arms  she  lean'd 
Kindly  look'd  up,  and  at  her  grief  grew  sad  ! 
E'en  the  lew'd  rabble,  that  were  gatfrer'd  round 
To  see  the  sight,  stood  mute  when  they  beheld  her, 
Govern 'd  their  roaring  throats — -and  grumbled  pity* 

k  FEAR. 

^COME  on,  Sir, — here's  the  place — stand  still.— 
How  fearful  'tis  to  cast  one's  eyes  so  low  ! 
The  crows  and  coughs,  that  wing  the  midway  air, 
S:iow  scarce  so  gross  as  beetles.     Half  way  down. 
Hangs  one  that  gathers  samphire — dreadful  trade  ! 
Methinks  he  seerns  no  bigger  than  one's  head, 
,  The  fishermen,  that  walk  upon  the  beach, 
Appear  like  mice  ;  and  yon  tall  anchoring  bark 
Seems  lesson 'd  to  a  cock  ;  her  cock,  a  buoy 
Almost  too  small  for  sight.  The  murmuring  surge. 
That  on  th'  unnumber'd  idle  pebbles  chases, 
Cannot  be  heard  so  high. — I'll  look  no  more, 
Lest  my  brain  turn  and  the  disorder  make  me 
Tumble  down  headlong. 

AWE  AND  FEAR, 

NOW,  all  is  hush'd,  and  still  as  death- 
How  reverend  is  the  face  of  this  tall  pile, 
Whose  ancient  pillars  rear  their  marble  heads, 
To  bear  aloft  its  arch'd  and  pond'rous  roof, 
By  its  own  weight  made  stedfast  and  immovable, 
Looking  tranquillity  !  It  strikes  an  awe 
And  terror  on  my  aking  sight.     The  tombs, 
And  monumental  caves  of  death  look  cold, 
||i&nd  shoot  a  chillness  to  my  trembling  heart* 
Give  me  thy  hand,  and  let  me  hear  thy  voice — 
Nay,  quickly  speak  to  me,  and  let  me  hear 
Thy  voice — my  own  affrights  me  with  its  echoes, 


APPENDIX. 

HORROR. 

HARK  ! — the  death-denouncing  trumpet  sounds 
The  fatal  charge,  and  shouts  proclaim  the  onset. 
Destruction  rushes  dreadful  to  the  field, 
And  bathes  itself  in  blood.     Havoc,  let  loose, 
Now,  undistinguish'd,  rages  all  around  : 
While  ruin,  seated  on  her  dreary  throne, 
Sees  the  plain  strew'd,  with  subjects  truly  hers, 
Breathless  and  cold. 

ANGER.  0 

HEAR  me,  rash  man  ;  on  thy  allegicnoe  hear  me, 
Since  thou  hast  striven  to  make  us  break  our  vow, 
Which,  nor  our  nature,  nor  our  place  can  bear, 
We  banish  thee  for  ever  from  our  sight 
And  kingdom.     If,  when  three  days  are  expir'd, 
Thy  hated  trunk  be  found  in  our  dominions, 
That  moment  is  thy  death— Away  1 

EXECRATION. 

CURS'D  be  your  senate  :  curs'd  your  constitution  ; 
The  curse  of  growing  factions  and  divisions 
Still  vex  your  councils,  shake  your  public  safety, 
And  make  the  robes  of  government  you  wear, 
Hateful  to  you — as  these  base  chains  to  me. 

REVENGE. 

IF  it  will  feed  nothing  else,  it  will  feed  my  revenge.. 
He  hath  disgraced  me,  and  hindered  me  of  half  a 
million  ;  laughed  at  my  losses,  mocked  at  my  gains, 
scorned  my  nation,  thwarted  my  bargains,  cooled  my 
friends,  heated  mine  enemies.  And  what's  his  reason .? 
— I  am  a  Jew.  Hath  not  a  Jew  eyes  ?  hath  not  a  Jew 
hands,  organs,  dimensions,  senses,  affections,  passions  ? 
Is  he  not  fed  with  the  same  food,  hurt  with  the  same 
weapons,  subject  to  the  same  diseases,  healed  by  the  same 
jneans,  warmed  and  cooled  by  the  same  winter  and  sum- 


564  APPEND  I  X. 

rner,  as  a  Christian  is  ?  If  you  prick  us,  do  we  not  bleed  ? 
if  you  tickle  us  do  we  not  laugh  ?  if  you  poison  us,  do  we 
not  die  !  and,  if  you  wrong  us  —  shall  we  not  revenge  ?  If 
"we  are  like  you  in  the  rest,  we  will  resemble  you  in  that. 
If  a  Jew  wong  a  Christian,  what  is  his  humility  ?  —  Re- 
venge. If  a  Christian  wrong  a  Jew,  what  should  his  suf- 
ferance be  by  Christian  example  ?-—  why,  revenge. 
The  villainy  you  teach  me,  I  will  execute  ;  and  it  shall  go 
d,  but  I  will  better  the  instruction. 


ADMIRATION,. 

What  find  There  I 

Fair  Portia's  counterfeit  ?  —  What  derm-god 
Hath  come  so  near  creation  !  Move  these  eyes  I 
Or,  whether,  riding  on  the  balls  of  mine, 
Seem  they  in  motion  ?  —  Here  are  sever'd  lips, 
Parted  with  suo;ar  breath  :  so  sweet  a  bar 
Should  sunder  such  sweet  friends.  —  Here,  in  her  hairs, 
The  painter  plays  the  spider,  and  hath  woven 
A  golden  mesh,  t'  intrap  the  hearts  of  men 
Faster  than  gnats  in  cobwebs.     But  htr  eyes  — 
How  could  he  see  to  do  them  !   having  made  one, 
Mi-thinks  it  should  have  power  to  steal  bath  his, 
And  leave  itself  unfinish'd  ! 

HAUGHTINESS. 

MAKE  thy  demands  to  those  that  own  thy  power  I 
Know,  I  am  still  beyond  thee.     And  tho'  fortune 
lias  stript  me  of  this  train,  this  pomp  of  greatness, 
This  outside  of  a  king,  yet  still  my  soul 
Fix'd  bierh,  and  on  herself  alone  dependant, 
Is  ever  free  and  royal  ;   and,  even  now, 
As  at  the  head  of  battle  —  does  defy  thee  I 

CONTEMPT. 

AWAY  !  —  no  woman  could  descend  so  low, 
A  skipping,  dancing,  worthless  tribe  you  are  ; 
Fit  only  for  yourselves.  You  herd  together  j 


APPENDIX.  365 

And  when  the  circling  glass  warms  your  vain  hearts, 
You  talk  of  beauties  that  you  never  saw. 
And  fancy  raptures  that  you  never  knew. 

RESIGNATION. 

YET,  yet  endure — nor  murmur,  O  my  soul  ! 
For,  are  not  thy  transgressons  great  and  numberless  ? 
Do  they  not  cover  thee,  like  rising  floods  ? 
And  press  thee,  like  a  weight  of  waters,  down  ? 
Does  not  the  band  of  righteousness  afflict  thee  ? 
And  who  shall  plead  against  it.  ?•  who  shall  say 
To  Pow'r  Almighty,  Thou  hast  clone  enough  ; 
Or  bid  his  dreadful  rod  of  vengeance  stay  ? 
Wait,  then,  with  patience,  till  the  circling  hours 
Shall  bring  the  time  of  thy  appointed  rest 
And  lay  thee  down  in  death. 

IMPATIENCE. 

OH  !  rid  me  of  this  torture,  quickly  there* 
My  Madam,  with- the  everlasting  voice. 
The  bells,  in  time  of  pestilence,  ne'er  made 
Like  noise,  or  were  in  that  perpetual  motion. 

-  — . All  my  house, 

But  now,  steam'd  like  a  bath,  with  her  thick  brcai 
A  lawyer  could  not  have  been  heard,  nor  scarce 
Another  woman,  such  a  hail  of  words 
She  has  let  fall. 

MELANCHOLY. 

THERE  is  a  stupid  weight  upon  my  senses  . 
A  dismal  sullen  stillness,  that  succeeds 
The  storm  of  rage  and  grief,  like  silent  death, 
After  the  tumult  and  the  noise  of  life. 
Would  It  were  death,  as  sure  'tis  wondrous  like  is 
For  I  am  sick  of  living*     My  soul  is  pall'd  : 
She  kindles  not,  with  anger,  or  revenge. 
Love  was  th'  informing  active  fire  within  : 
Now,  that  is  quench'd,  the  mass  forgets  to  rnep 
And  longs  to  mingle  with  its  kindred  earth, 
-  li  Jb.2 


366  APPENDIX. 

REMORSE  AND  DESPAIR. 

HENCEFORTH,  let*  no  man  trust  the  first  false  step 
Of  £uilt..    It  hangs  upon  a  precipice 
Whose  deep  descent  in  lost  perdition  ends. 
How  far  aai  I  plung'd  down,  beyond  all  thought 
Which  I  this  evening  fram'd— - 
Consummate  horror  !  guilt  beyond  a  name  1 
Dare  not,  my  soul,  repent.     In  thee,  repentance 
Were  second  guilt ;  and  twere  blaspheming  Heav'u 
To  hope  for  mercy.     My  pain  can  only  cease 
When  gods  want  power  to  punish. — Ha ! — the  dawn— - 
Rise  never  more-,  O  sun  ! — let  night  prevail  : 
Eternal  darkness  close  the  world's  wide  scene— 
And  hide  me  from  myself. 

DISTRACTION. 

MERCY  !-£-!  know  it  not — —for  I  am  miserable. 
I'll  give  thee  misery — for  here  she  dwells, 
This  is  her  house — where  the  sun  never  dawns  ; 
The  bird  of  night  sits  screaming  o'er  the  roof  ; 
Grim  spectres  sweep  along  the  horrid  gloom  ; 
And  nought  is  heard,  but  wailings  and  lamenting.-— 
Hark  ! — something  cracks  above  ; — it  shakes  !— it  tot- 
ters I 

And  see — the  nodding  ruin  falls  to  crush  me  ! 
'Tis  fallen— 'tis  here  ! — I  feel  it  on  my  brain  ! — 
A  waving  flood  of  bluish  fire  swells  o'er  me  ! — 
And  now  'tis  out — and  I  am  drown'd  in  blood.—* 
Ha  !  what  art  thou  ?  thou  horrid  headless  trunk  ! — 
It  is  my  Hastings — See,  he  wafts  me  on  ! 
Away  I  go  ! 1  fly  ! 1  follow  thee  ? 

GRATITUDE. 

MY  father  !— -Oh  !  let  me  unlade  my  breast  ; 
Pour  out  the  fulness  of  my  soul  before  you  ; 
Show  ev'ry  tender,  every  grateful  thought, 
This  wond'rous  goodness  stirs.     But  'tis  impossible, 
And  utt'rance  all  is  vile,  since  I  can  only 
Swear  you  reign  here,  but  never  tell  bow  much. 


APPENDIX.  367 

INTREATY. 

REWARD  him  for  the  noble  deed,  just  Heav'n  ! 
For  this  one  action,  guard  himvand  distinguish  him 
With  signal  mercies,  and  \vith  great  deliverance. 
Save  him  from  wrong,  adversity,  and  shame. 
Let  never  fading  honors  flourish  round  him  ; 
And  consecrate  his  name,  ev'n  to  time's  end. 
Let  him  know  nothing  else,  but  good  on  earth — 
'And  everlasting  blessedness  hereafter. 

COMMANDING. 

SILENCE  ye  winds  ! 

That  make  outrageous  war  upon  the  ocean  i 
And  thou  old  ocean  !  lull  thy  boist'rous  waves, 
Ye  warring  elements  !  be  husk'd  as  death, 
While  I  impose  my  dread  commands  on  hell. 
And  thou,  profoundest  hell !  whose  dreadful  sway, 

Is  given  to  me  by  fate  and  demogorgon 

Hear,  hear  my  powerful  voice,  through  all  thy  regie 
And,  from  thy  gloomy  caverns — thunder  the  reply, 

COURAGE. 

A  Generous  few,  the  vet'ran,  hardy  gleanings 
Of  many  a  hapless  fight,  with  a  fierce 
Heroic  fire,  inspirited  each  other  ; 
Resolv'd  on  death  ;  disdaining  to  survive 
Their  dearest  country — "  If  we  fall,"  I  cry'd, 
4<  Let  us  not  tamely  fall,  like  passive  cowards  ! 
"  No — let  us  live,  or  let  us  die — like  men  ! 
"  Come  on,  my  friends.     To  Alfred  we  will  cut 
"  Our  glorious  way  :  or  as  we  nobly  perish, 
"  Will  offer  to  the  genius  of  our  country — 
"  Whol  ehecatombs  of  Danes." — As  if  one  soul 
Have  mov'd  them  all,  around  their  heads  they  flash'd 
Their  flaming  faulchions — "  Lead  us  to  those  Danes  ! 
u  Our  country  I—Vengeance  !" — was  the  general  cry. 

BOASTING. 

I  WILL  tell  you,    Sir,   by  the   way  of  private  and 
under  se^l,  I  am  a  gentleman  ;  and  live  here,  obscure, 


333  APPENDIX. 

and  to  myself ;  but,  were  I  known  to  his  Majesty,  and" 
the  Lords,  observe  me,  I  would  undertake,  upon  this 
poor  head  and  life,  for  the  public  benefit  of  the  state, 
not. only  to  spare  the  entire  lives  of  his  subjects  in  gen- 
eral, but  to  save  the  one  hali^  nay  three  parts  of  his  yearly 
charge,  in  holding  war,  and  against  what  enemy  soever. 
And  how  would  I  do  it,  think  you  ? — Why  thus,  Sir — > 
I  would  select  nineteen  more  to  myself,  throughout  the 
land  ;  gentlemen  they  should  be  ;.  of  good  spirit,  strong 
and  able  constitution.  I  would  choose  them,  by  an  in- 
stinct that  I  have.  And  I  would  teach  these  nineteen, 
the  special  rules  ;  as  your  Punto,  your  Reverse,  your 
Stoccata,  your  Imbroccata,  your  Passada,  your  Monton- 
to  ;  till  they  could  all  play  very  near,  or  altogether,  as 
well  as  myself*  This  done,  say  the  enemy  were  forty 
thousand  strong..  We  twenty  would  come  into  the  field, 
the  tenth  of  March  cr  thereabouts  ;  and  we  would  chal- 
lenge twenty  of  the  enemy  ;  they  could  not,  in  their 
honor,  refuse  us  !  Weil — we  would  kill  them  :  challenge 
Uventy  more — kill  them  :  twenty  more — kill  them  : 
twenty  more—- kill  them  too.  And,  thus,  would  we  kill,, 
tvery  man,  his  twenty  a-eky  ;  that's  twenty  score  ;  twen- 
ty score  ;  that's  two  hundred  ;  two  hundred  a-day  ;  five 
days  a  thousand  :  forty  thousand — forty  times  five  ;  five 
times  forty — two  hundred  days  kill  them  all  up  by  com- 
putation. And  this  I  will  venture  my  poor  gentleman- 
like carcase  to  perform  (provided  there  be  no  treason, 
practised  upon)  by  fair  and  discreet;  manhood  j  that  is* 
civilly,  by  ths  sword. 

PERPLEXITY. 

LET  me  think — 

What  can  this  mean? — Is  it  to  me  aversion  ?' 

Or  is  it,  as  I  fear'd,  she  loves  another  ? 

Ha  !  yes — ^perhapsthe  king,  the  young  count  Tancred  ? 

They  were  bred  up  together — surely  that, 

That  cannot  be—Has  he  not  giv'n  his  hand, 

In  the  most  solemn  manner  to  Constantia  ? 

Does  not  his  crown  depend  upon  the  deed  ? 

No — if  they  lov'd,  and  this  old  statesman  knew  it, 

He  could  not  to  a  king  prefer  a  subject. 

jrLs  virtues  I  csteem—tiaiy  more,  I  trust  them—- 


APPENDIX.  369 

So  far  as  virtue  goes — but  could  he  place 
His  daughter  on  the  throne  of  Sicily — • 

0  !  'tis  a  glorious  bribe  ;  too  much  for  man  I 
What  is  it  then  !— I  care  not  what  it  is. 

SUSPICION. 

WOULD  he  were  fatter — but  I  fear  him  not  : 
Yes,  if  my  name  were  liable  to  fear, 

1  do  not  know  the  man  I  should  avoid, 

So  soon  as  that  spare  Cassius.     He  reads  much—- 
He is  a  great  observer — and  he  looks 
Quite  through  the  deeds  of  men. 
He  loves  no  plays  :   he  hears  no  music. 
Seldom  he  smiles  ;  and  smiles  in  such  a  sort, 
As  if  he  mock'cl  himself,  and  scorn'd  his  spirit., 
That  could  be  mov'd  to  smile  at  any  thing. 
Such  men  as  he  be  never  at  heart's  ease, 
Whilst  they  behold  a  greater  than  themselves — - 
And,  therefore,  are  they  very  dangerous. 

WIT  AND  HUMOR. 

A  GOOD  sherris-snck  hath  a  two-fold  operation  in  it. 
— It  ascends  me  into  the  brain.  Dries  me  there,  all  the 
foolish,  dull,  and  crudy  vapors  which  environ  it  :  m&kes 
it  apprehensive,  quick,  inventive;  full  of  nimble,  fiery 
and  delectable  shapes,  which,  delivered  over  to  the  voice, 
the  tongue,  which  is  the  birth  becomes  excellent  wit. — 
The  second  properly  of  your  excellent  sherris,  is,  the 
warming  of  the  blood  :  which  before,  cold  and  settled,  left 
the  liver  white  and  pale  ;  which  is  the  badge  of  pusilla- 
nimity and  cowardice.  But  the  sherris  warms  it,  and 
makes  it  course  from  the  inwards  to  the  parts  extreme. 
It  illuminateth  the  face,  which,  as  a  beacon,  gives  warning 
to  all  the  rest  of  the  kingdom,  man,  to  arm  :  and  then, 
the  vital  commoners,  and  inland  pretty  spirits,  muster  me 
all  to  their  captain,  the  heart  ;  who,  great,  and  puffed  up 
\vith  his  retinue,  doth  any  deed  of  courage — and  this  valor 
comes  to  sherris.  So  that  skill  in  the  weapon,  is  nothing 
without  sack.;  for  that  sets  it  a- work  ;  and  learning,  a 


370  A  P  P  E  N  D  I  X. 

in  ere  hoard  of  gold  kept  by  a  devil,  till  sack  commences 
»t,  and  sets  it  in  act  and  use.  Hereof  comes  it  that  Prince 
Harry  is  valiant :  for  the  cold  blood  he  did  rutu rally  in- 
herit of  his  father  he  hath,  like  lean,  steril  and  bare  landi 
3nanured,  husbanded,  and  tilled,  with  drinking  good,  and 
good  store  of  fertile  sherris. — -If  I  had  a  thousand  sons, 
the  first  human  principle  I  would  teach  them,  should  be — 
To  forswear  thin  potations,  and  to  addict  themselves  to 
sack. 


A  PLAGUE  on  all  cowards,  Isay,  and  a  vengeance 
too,  marry  and  amen  !  Give  me  a  cup  of  sack  boy. — Ere 
I  lead  this  life  long,  I'll  sew  nether  socks  and  rnend  them, 
and  foot  them  too.  A  plague  on.  all  cowards  I  Give  me 
a  cup  of  sack,  rogue.  Is  there  no  virtue  extant  ? 

[Drinks* 

You  rogue  !  here's  lime  in  this  sack  too.  There  is  no- 
thing but  roguery  to  be  found  in  villainous  man.  Yet  a 
coward  is  worse  that  a  cup  of  sack  with  lime  in  it — Go  thy 
ways,  old  Jack  !  die  when  t'hou  wilt,  if  manhood,  good 
manhood,  be  not  forgot  upon  the  face  of  the  earth,  then  arn 
la  shotten  herring.  There  live  not  three  good  men  un- 
Iv.inged  in  England  ;  and  one  of  them  is  fat,  and  grows 
old,  God  help  the  while  !-~ A  plague  on  all  cowards,  I  say 
Still  l-p—'Give  me  a  cup  of  sack.  [Drinks. 

I  am  a  rogue  if  I  were  not  at  half-sword  with  a  dozen 
of  them  tivo  hours  together*  I  have  escaped  by  miracle. 
J  'am  eight  times  thrust  through  the  doublet ;  four  through 
the  hose  ;  my  buckle?  cut  through  and  through;  my 
sword  hacked 'like  a  hand  saw—, — ?cce  sigmim  !  I  never 
dealt  better  since  I  was  a  man.  All  would  not  do.  A 
plague  on  all  cowards  !  But  I  have,  peppered  two  of 
them  ;  two,  I  am  sure,  X  have  paid  ;  two  rogues  in 
buckram  suits.  I  tell  thee  what,  if  I  tell  thee  a  lie,  spit- 
in  my  face  ;  call  m-e  horse— Thou  knowest  my  old  ward. 
Here  I  lay  :  and  thus  I  bore  my  point.— Four  rogues  in 
buckram  let  drive  at  me>  These  four  came  all  front, 
and  mainly  thrust  at  me.  I  made  no  more  ado,  but  took 
all  the  seven  points  in  my  target,  thus.  Then,  these 
iAi;r-  h  buckram,  that '  I. :  told  thee  of/  began,  to  give  ms 


APPENDIX.  37| 

ground.  But  I  followed  me  close  ;  came  in  foot  and 
hand  ;  and,  with  a  thought— seven  of  these  eleven  I 

paid A  plague  on  all  cowards,  say  I  !- Give  me  a 

cup  of  sack.  [Drinka. 

RIDICULE. 

I  CAN  as  well  be  hanged,  as  tell  the  manner  of  it  :  it 
was  mere  foolery — I  saw  Mark  Antony  offer  him  a 
crown  ;  and,  as  I  tolcl  you,  he  put  it  by  once— but,  for  all 
that,  to  my  thinking,  he  would  fain  have  had  it.  Then 

ie  offered  it  to  him  again  ;  then,  he  put  it  by  again—but, 
to  my  thinking,  he  was  very  loth  to  lay  his  finders 
oft  it.  And  then  he  offered  it  a  third  time  :  he  put  it  the 
third  time  by  ;  and  still  as  he  refused  it,  the  rabblement 
shouted,  and  clapt  their  chopt  hands,  and  threw  by  their 
sweaty  night-caps,  and  uttered  such  a  deal  of  stinking 

reath,  because  Caesar  refused  the  crown,  that  it  had  al- 
most choaked  Czesar ;  for  he  swooned,  and  fell  down  at 
it ;  and  for  mine  own  part,  I  durst  not  laugh  for  fear  of 
opening  my  lips,  and  receiving  the  bad  air. 

Before  he  fell  down,  when  he  perceived  the  common 
herd  were  glad  he  refused  the  crown,  he  plucked  me  ope 
his  doublet,  and  offered  them  his  throat  to  cut :  an5 1  had 
been  a  man  of  any  occupation,  if  I  would  not  have  taken 
him  at  a  word,  I  would  I  might  go  to  hell  among  the 
rogues  !-and  so  he  fell.  When  he  came  to  himself  again, 
he  said,  "If  he  had  done,  or  said  any  thing  amiss,  he  de- 
«  sired  their  worships  to  think  it  was  his  infirmity." 
Ihree  or  four  wenches,  where  I  stood,  cried,  Alas,  good 
soul  !— •  and  forgave  him  with  all  their  hearts.  But  there's 
no  heed  to  be  taken  of  them  ;  if  Cxsar  had  stabbed  their 
mothers,  they  would  have  done  no  less. 

PERTURBATION. 

^VENGEANCE!  death!  plague!  confusion! 
Fiery  !  what  quality  ?— Why,  Gloster,  Gloster  ! 
Td  speak  with  the  Duke  of  Cornwall  and  his  wife  ; 
1  he  king  would  speak  with  Cornwall— the  dear  father 
Would  with  his  daughter  speak  ;  commands  her  service 
Are  they  mform'd  of  this  ?— My  breath  and  blood  ! 


372  APPENDIX. 

Fiery  !  The  fiery  Duke  !  Tell  the  hot  Duke- 
No,  but  not  yet  :  may  be  he  is  not  well. 
1  beg  his  pardon  ;  and  I'll  chide  my  rashness, 
That  took  the  indisposed  and  sickly  fit 
For  the  sound  man. — But  wherefore  sits  he  there  ? — - 
Death  on  my  state  !   this  act  convinces  me, 
That  this  retir'dness  of  the  Duke  and  her 
Is  plain  contempt — Give  me  my  servant  forth — 
Go  tell  the  Duke  and's  wife  I'd  speak  with  'em  ; 
Now  ;  instantly — Bid  'em  come  forth,  and  hear  me  ; 
Or,  at  their  chamber-door,  I'll  beat  the  drum— 
'Till  it  cry — Sleep  to  death*- 


FINIS, 


ELEMENTS  OF  GESTURE. 


SECTION  L 

On  the  Speaking  of  Speeches  at  Echj3k* 

LOCUTION  has,  for  some  years  past,  been  an  ob- 
_  ject  of  uttention  in  the  most  respectable  schools  in 
this  country.  A  laudable  ambition  of  instructing-  youth 
in  the  pronunciation  and  delivery  of  their  native  lan- 
guage, has  made  English  speeches  a  very  conspicuous 
part  of  those  exhibitions  of  oratory  which  do  them  so 
much  credit. 

This  attention  to  English  pronunciation  has  induced 
several  ingenious  men  to  compile  Exercises  in  Elocution 
for  the  use  of  schools,  which  have  answered  very  useful 
purposes  ;  hut  none,  so  far  as  I  have  seen,  have  attempt- 
ed to  give  us  a  regular  system  of  gesture  suited  to  the 
wants  and  capacities  of  school-boys.  Mr.  Burgh  in  his 
Art  of  Speaking,  has  given  us  a  system  of  the  passions, 
and  has  shown  us  how  they  appear  in  the  countenance 
and  operate  on  the  body  ;  but  this  system,  however  useful 
to  people  of  riper  years,  is  too  delicate  and  complicated 
to  be  taught  in  schools.  Indeed,  the  exact  adaption  of 
the  action  to  the  word,  and  the  word  to  the  action,  as 
Shakspeare  calls  it,  is  the  most  difficult  part  of  delive- 
ry, and  therefore  can  never  be  taught  perfectly  to  chil- 
dren ;  to  say  nothing  of  distracting  their  attention  with 
two  very  difficult  things  at  the  same  time.  But  that  boys 
should  stand  motionless,  while  they  are  pronouncing 
the  most  impassioned  language,  is  extremely  absurd  and 
unnatural  ;  and  that  they  should  sprawl  into  an  auk  ward, 
ungain,  and  desultory  action,  is  still  more  offensive  und 
I  i 


374  ELEMENTS 

disgusting,  What  then  remains  but  that  such  a  general 
style  of  action  be  adopted,  as  shall  be  easily  conceived 
and  easily  executed,  which,  though  not  expressive  of  any 
particular  passion,  shall  not  be  inconsistent  with  the  ex- 
pression of  any  passion  ;  which  shall  always  keep  the 
body  in  a  graceful  position,  and  shall  so  vary  its  motions, 
at  proper  intervals,  as  to  seern  the  subject  operating  on 
the  speaker,  and  not  the  speaker  on  the  subject.  This, 
It  will  be  confessed,  is  a  great  desideratum  ;  and  an  at- 
tempt to  do  this,  is  the  principal  object  of  the  present  pub- 

1  oi)  . 

The  difficulty  of  describing  action  by  words,  will  be 
allowed  by  every  one  :  and  if  we  were  never  to  give 
any  instructions  but  such  as  should  completely  answer  our 
Y/isLes,  this  difficulty  would  be  a  good  reason  for  not  at- 
tempting to  give  any  description  of  it.  But  there  are 


and  ih 
than: 
cccasi- 


between 
at  all 
•on   may 
is  a  much 

conveying 
.     Besides 
onvey 
more 

a  precise    ido.   of"  a 
,  in  this    part   of  de- 
tlie   eye  ;   and 
'..-  of  kn  o-.'  !t\lge 

,*n   the  pi  csent 
-itltvides   which 
::,l    descriptions, 
;ce  the  reader's 

\  just  tout 
it  would  natur 
iocs   not   bear 

eats  the  ai. 

•.')in;r  the  ?.; 
ally  "fall,  if 
upon  it. 

.n   v/hich  a  boy 
is  to  speak. 
ri  th     ''ight 
mce 
lifted  up              .'/that 
The  knees   should  be 

at  which 
the  body  < 

sr'alt  t;nti  braced,  and  the  body,   though  perfectly  strait, 
.uiicular,  but  inclininp;   as  far  to  the   right,  as  a 
:ion  on  the   right  leg   will   permit.     The  right 
arm  must  then  be  held  out  with  the  palm  open,  the  fin- 
rrers  strait  and  close,   the   thumb   almost  as  distant  from 
them  as  it  will  go,  and  the  flat  of  the  hand  neither  ho- 
rizontal nor   vertical,   but  exactly  between   both.     The 
position  of  the  arm  perhaps  will  be  best  described  by 
•sing  an  oblong  hollow  square  formed  by  the  measure 
tr  arms,   as  IP.  :  the  arm  in  its 


O  F    G  £  S  T  1)'  R  )v 


PLATE  I. 


K  L  E  M  E  N 


PLATE  II. 


OF    G  E  S  T  U  R  E.  577 

true  position  forms  the  diagonal  of  such  an  Imaginary 
figure.  So  that,  if  lines  were  drawn  at  right  angles  from 
the  shoulder,  extending  downwards,  forwards,  and  side- 
v/ays,  the  arm  will  form  an  angle  of  forty-five  degrees 
every  way. 

When  the  pupil  has  pronounced  one  sentence  in  the 
position  thus  described,  the  hand,  as  if  lifeless,  must  drop 
down  to  the  side,  the  very  moment  the  last  accented  word 
h  pronounced;  and  the  body  without  altering- the  place 
of  the  feet,  poize  itself  on  the  left  leg,  while  the  left 
hand  rises  itself  into  exact  me  position  as  the 

t  was  before,  and  continues  in  this  position  till  the 
end  of  the  next  sentence,  when  it  drops  down  on  the  side 
as  if  dead  ;  and  the  body,  poising  itself  en  the  right  ler; 
as  before,  continues  with  the  right  arm  extended,  till  the 
end  of  the  succeeding  sentence,  and-  so  on  from  right  to 
left,  and  from  left  to  right  ;.  /,  till  the  speech  :;, 

ended. 

Great  care  must  be  taken  '.I  end  cr,e  sen- 

tence completely  before  he  l«.  st  let 

the  arm  drop  to  the  side,  and  continue  fora  moment  in 
that  pasture  in  which  ht  :;!,  before  he  poizes  his 

body  on  the  other  leg,  and  raises  the  ether  ana  into  the 
diagonal  petition  before  described  ;  both  which  should  be 
d on u  before  he  begins  to  pronounce  the  next  sentence- 
Care  must  also  be  taken,  in  shifting  the  body  from  one  k?-; 
to  the  other,  that  the  feet  do  not  alter  their  distance.  Li 
altering  the  position  of  the  body,  the  feet  will  necer 
alter  their  position  a  little,  but  this  change  rmisl  be  made 
by  turning  the  toes  in  a  somewhat  different  direction, 
without  suffering  them  to  shift  their  ground.  The  h 
in  this  transition,  change  their  place,  but  not  the  toes, 
The  toes  may  be  considered  os  pivots,  on  which  the  body 
turns  from  side  to  side. 

If  the  pupil's  knees  are  not  well  formed,  or  incline 
inwards,  he  must  be  taught  too  keep  his  legs  at.  as  great 
a  distance  as  possible,  and  to  iru  body  so  much 

to  that  side,  on  whirl)  the  arm  is  extended,  as  to  oblige 
him  to  rest  the  opposite  leg  upon  the  toe  ;  and  this  wij], 
in  a  great  measure,  hide  the  defect  of  his  make.  In  the 
same  manner,  if  the  arm  be  too  long,  or  the  elbow  incline 
1  i  2 


378  ELEMENTS. 

inwards,  it  will  be  proper  to  make  him  turn  the  palm  of 
his  hand  downwards,  so  as  to  make  it  perfectly  horizontal. 
This  will  infallibly  incline  the  elbow  outwards,  and  pre- 
vent the  worst  position  the  arm  can  possibly  fall  into, 
which  is  that  of  inclining  the  elbow  to  the  body.  This 
position  of  the  hand  so  necessarily  keeps  the  elbow  out, 
that  it  would  not  be  improper  to  make  the  pupil  some- 
time practice  it,  though  he  may  have  no  defect  in  his 
make  ;  as  an  occasional  alteration  of  the  former  position 
to  this,  may  often  be  necessary  both  for  the  sake  of  just- 
ness and  variety.  These  two  last  positions  of  the  legs 
and  arms,  are  described  in  plate  second. 

When  the  pupil  has  got  the  habit  of  holding  his  hand 
and  arm  properly,  he  may  be  taught  to  move  it.  In  this 
motion  he  must  be  careful  to  keep  the  arm  from  the  body, 
He  must  neither  draw  the  elbow  backwards,  nor  suffer  it 
to  approach  to  the  side,  but  while  the  hand  and  lower 
joint  of  the  arm  are  curving  towards  the  shoulder,  the 
whole  arm,  with  the  elbow  forming  nearly  an  angle  of  a 
square,  should'  move  upwards  from  the  shoulder,  in  the 
same  position  as  when  gracefully  taking  off  the  hat ;  that 
is,  with  the  elbow  extended  from  the  side,  and  the  upper 
joint  of  the  arm  nearly  on  a  line  with  the  shoulder,  and 
forming  an  angle  of  a  square  with  the  body  ; — (see  plate 
III.) — this  motion  of  the  arm  will  naturally  bring  th§ 
hand  with  the  palm  downwards,  into  a  horizontal  position., 
;vnd  when  it  approaches  to  the  head,  the  arm  should  with 
a  jerk  be  suddenly  straightened  into  its  first  position,  at 
the  very  moment  the  emphatical  word  is  pronounced* 
This  coincidence  of  the  hand  and  voice,  will  greatly  en- 
force the  pronunciation  ;  and  if  they  keep  time,  they  will 
be  in  tune  as  it  were  to  each  other,  and  to  force  and  ener- 
gy, add  harmony  and  variety. 

As  this  motion  of  the  arm  is  somewhat  complicated, 
and  may  be  found  difficult  to  execute,  it  would  be  ad- 
viseable  to  let  the  pupil  at  first  speak  without  any  motion 
of  the  arm  at  all.  After  some  time  he  will  naturally 
fall  into  a  small  curvature  of  the  elbow,  to  beat  time*, 
as  it  were,  to  the  emphatic  word  ;  and  if  in  doing  this, 
he  is  constantly  urged  to  raise  the  elbow,  and  to  keep  it 
at  a  distance  from  the  body,  the  action  of  the  arm  \viJJ 


OF    G  E  S  T  U  R  E. 


PLATE  II!. 


380  ELEMENT  S. 

naturally  grow  up  into  that  we  have  just  described.  So 
the  diagonal  position  of  the  arm  though  the  most  grace- 
ful and  easy  when  the  body  is  at  rest,  may  be  too  difficult 
for  boy  a  to  fall  into  at  first  ;  and  therefore  it  may  be  ne- 
cessary, in  order  to  avoid  the  worse  extreme,  for  some 
time  to  make  them  extend  the  arm  -as  far  from  the  body 
as  they  can,  in  a  somewhat  similar  direction,  but  higher 
from  the  ground,  and  inclining  more  to  the  back.  Great 
care  must  be  taken  to  keep  the  had  open,  and  the  thumb 
at  some  distance  from  the  lingers  ;  and  particular  atten- 
tion must  be  paid  to  keeping  the  hand  in  the  exact  line 
with  the  lower  part  of  the  arm,  so  as  not  to  bend  at  the 
wrist,  either  when  it  is  held  out  without  motion,  or  when 
it  gives  the  emphatic  stroke.  And  above  all,  the  body 
must  be  kept  in  a  strait  line  with  the  leg  on  which  it 
bears,  and  not  suffered  to  beod  to  the  opposite  side. 

At  first  it  may  not  be  improper  for  the  teacher,  after 
placing  the  pupil  in  the  position  plate  I.  to  stand  at  some 
distance  exactly  opposite  to  him  in  the  same  position,  the 
right  and  left  sides  only  reversed,  and  while  the  pupil  is 
speaking,  to  show  him  by  example  the  action  he  is  to 
make  use  of.  In  this  case,  the  teacher's  left  hand  will' 
correspond  to  the  pupil's  right,  by  which  "means  he  will 
see  as  in  a  looking-glass,  how  to  regulate  his  gesture,  and 
•will  soon  catch  the  method  of  doing  it  by  himself. 

It  is  expected  the  master  will  be  a  little  discouraged  at' 
the  awkward  figure  his  pupil  makes  in  his  first  attempts 
to  teach  him.  But  this  is  no  more  than  what  happens  in 
dancing,  fencing,  or  any  other  exercise  which  depends  on 
habit.  By  practice,  the  pupil  will  soon  begin  to  feel  his  posi- 
tion, and  to  be  easy  in  it.  Those  positions  which  were 
zt  first  distressing  to  him,  he  will  fall  into  naturally,  and 
if  they  arc  such  as  are  really  graceful  and  becoming,  (and 
such  it  is  presumed  are  those  which  have  been  just  de- 
scribed) they  will  be  adopted  with  more  facility  than  any 
other  that  can  be  taught  him.. 


OF    GESTURE.  381 

SECTION  II. 

On  the  Acting  of  Plays  at  School. 

rT  THOUGH  the  acting  of  plays  at  schools  has  been 
JL  universally  supposed  a  very  useful  practice,  it  has  of 
late  years  been  much  laid  aside.  The  advantages  arising 
from  it  have  nofbeen  judged  equal  to  the  inconveniences  ; 
and  the  speaking  of  single  speeches,  or  the  acting  of  single 
scenes,  has  been  generally  substituted  in  its  stead.  Indeed 
when  we  consider  the  lending  principle  and  prevailing  sen- 
timents of  most  plays,  we  shall  not  wonder  that  they  are 
not  always  thought  to  be  the  most  suitable  employment  for 
youth  at  school  :  nor,  when  we  reflect  on  the  long  inter- 
ruption to  the  common  school  exercises,  which  the  prepa- 
ration of  a  play  must  necessarily  occasion,  shall  we  think 
it  consistent  with  general  improvement :-— But,  to  wave 
every  objection  from  prudence  or  morality,  it  may  be  con- 
fidently affirmed,  that  the  acting  of  a  play  is  not  so  condu- 
cive to  improvement  in  elocution,  as  the  speaking  of  sin- 
gle speeches. 

In  the  first  place,  tb^  acting  of  plays  is  of  all  kinds 
of  delivery  the  most  difficult  ;  and  therefore  cannot  be 
the  most  suitable  exercise  for  boys  at  school.  In  the  next 
place,  a  dramatic  performance  requires  so  much  atten- 
tion to  the  deportment  of  the  body,  so  varied  an  expres- 
sion of  the  passions,  and  so  strict  an  adherence  to  char- 
acter, that  elocution  is  in  danger  of  being  neglected  : 
Besides,  exact  propriety  of  action,  and  a  nice  discrimi- 
nation of  the  passions,  however  essential  on  the  stage, 
are  but  of  secondary  importance  in  a  school.  It  is  a 
pUvin,  open,  distinct,  and  forcible  prcnunciation  which 
school-boys  should  aim  at  ;  and  not  that  quick  transition 
From  one  passion  to  another,  that  archness  of  look,  and 
thatj?V«  de  theatre  as  it  is  called,  so  essential  to  a  toler- 
able dramatic  exhibition,  and  which  actors  themselves 
can  scarcely  arrive  at.  In  short,  it  is  speaking  rather 
than  acting  which  school-boys  should  be  taught,  while 
the  performance  of  plays  is  calculated  to  teach  them  acting 
rather  than  speaking. 


382  ELEMENTS 

But  there  is  a  contrary  extreme  into  which  manjr 
teachers  are  apt  to  run,  and  chkfly  those  who  are  inca- 
pable of  speaking  themselves,  and  that  is,  to  condemn 
every  thing  which  is  vehement  and  forcible,  as  theatric- 
al. It  is  an  old  trick  to  depreciate  what  we  cannot  at- 
tain, and  calling  a  spirited  pronunciation  theatrical,  is 
but  an  artful  method  of  hiding  an  utter  inability  of 
speaking  with  force  and  energy.  But  though  school-boys 
ought  not  to  be  taught  those  nice  touches  which  form  the, 
greatest  difficulties  in  the  profession  of  an  actor,  they 
should  not  be  too  much  restrained  from  an  exertion  of 
voice,  so  necessary  to  strengthen  the  organs  of  sound, 
because  they  may  sometimes  be  too  loud  and  vociferous. 
Perhaps  nine  out  of  ten,  instead  of  too  much  confidence, 
and  too  violent  a  manner  of  speaking,  which  these  teach- 
ers seem  so  much  to  dread,  have,  as  Dr.  Johnson  calls  it, 
a  frigid  equality,  a  stupid  languor,  and  a  torpid  apathy. 
.  These  must  be  roused  by  something  strong  and  expres- 
sive, or  they  will  never  rise  even  to  mediocrity  ;  while  the 
few  who  have  a  tendency  to  rant,  are  very  easily  re- 
claimed ;  and  might  to  be  treated  in  pronunciation  and 
action,  as  Quintillian  advises  us  to  do  in  composition  ; 
that  is,  we  should  rather  allow  of  an  exuberance,  than, 
by  too  much  correctness,  check  the  vigor  and  iuxuriancy 
of  nature.  \ 

Though  school-boys,  therefore,  ought  not  to  be  taught 
the  finesses  of  acting,  they  should  as  much  as  possible  be 
accustomed  to  speak  such  speeches  as  require  a  full,  open, 
animated  proriiniciation  •  for  which  purpose,  they  should 
be  confined  clyefly  to  orations,  odes,  and  such  single 
speeches  of  plays  as  are  in  the  declamatory  and  vehement 
style.  But  as  there  are  many  scenes  of  plays,  which  are 
justly  reckoned  among  the  finest  compositions  in  the  lan- 
guage, some  of  these  may  be  adopted  among  the  upper 
class  of  boys,  and  those  more  particularly  who  have  the 
best  deportment :  for  action  in  scenes  will  be  found  much 
more  difficult  than  in  single  speeches.  And  here  it  will 
be  necessary  to  give  some  additional  instructions  respect- 
ing action,  as  a  speaker  who  delivers  himself  singly  to 
an  auditory,  and  one  who  addresses  another  speaker  m 
view  of  an  auditory,  are  under  very  different  predict 


OF    G  E  S  T  U  R  E,  383 

jnents.  The  first  has  only  one  object  to  address,  the  la^ 
has  two  : — For  if  a  speaker  on  the  stage  were  to  addrer 
the  person  he  speaks  to,  without  any  regard  to  the  point 
of  view  in  which  he  stands  with  respect  to  the  audience, 
he  would  be  apt  to  turn  his  back  on  them  and  to  place 
himself  in  such  positions,  as  would  be  highly  ungraceful 
and  disgusting.  When  a  scene,  therefore,  is  represented, 
it  is  necessary  that  the  two  personages  who  speak  should 
form  a  sort  of  picture,  and  place  themselves  in  a  position 
agreeable  to  the  laws  of  perspective.  In  order  to  do  this, 
it  will  be  necessary  that  each  of  them  should  stand  ob- 
liquely, and  chiefly  make  use  of  one  hand  :  that  is,  sup- 
posing the  stage  or  platform  where  they  stand  to  be  a 
quadrangle  ;  each  speaker  should  respectively  face  that 
corner  of  it  next  to  the  audience,  and  use  that  hand  and 
rest  upon  that  leg  which  is  next  to  the  person  he  speaks 
to,  and  which  is  farthest  from  the  audience.  This  dis- 
position is  absolutely  necessary  to  form  any  thing  like  a 
picturesque  grouping*  of  objects,  and  without  it,  that  is, 
if  both  speakers  line  the  right  hand  and  stand  exactly 
fronting  each  other,  the  impropriery  will  be  palpable  and 
the  spectacle  clisgu sting. 

It  need  scarcely  bs  noted,  that  if  the  speaker  in  a 
scene  uses  that  hand  which  is  next  to  the  audience,  he 
ought  likewise  to  poise  his  body  upon  the  same  leg  :  this 
is  almost  an  invariable  rule  in  action  :  the  hand  should 
act  on  lhat  side  only  on  which  the  body  bears.  Good  act- 
.ors  and  ^p*.  .  kers  may  sometimes  depart  from  this  rule, 
but  such  only  will  know  when  to  do  it  with  propriety. 

Occasion  may  be  taken  in  the  course  of  the  scene  to 
change  sides.  One  speaker  at  the  end  of  an  impassioned 
speech,  may  cross  over  to  the  ola  2  of  the  other,  while 
the  latter  at  the  same  moment  crosses  over  to  the  place 
of  the  former.  This,  however,  must  be  done  with  great 
care,  and  so  as  to  keep  the  back  from  being  turned  to 
the  audience  :  but  if  this  transition  be  performed  adroit- 
ly, it  will  have  a  very  <rood  effect  in  varying  the  position 
of  the  speakers,  and  giving  each  an  opportunity  of  using 
his  right  hancWthe  most  favorable  to  grace  and  expres- 
sion. Arid  if  from  so  humble  a  scene  as  the  school,  v;e 
may  be  permitted  to  raise  our  observations  to  the  senate, 


384  ELEMENTS 

it  might  be  hinted)  that  gentlemen  on  each  side  of  the  4 
house,  while  addressing  the  chair,  -can  with  grace  aru! 
propriety  only  make  use  of  one  hand  ;  namely,  that  which 
is  next  to  the  speaker  ;  and  it  may  be  observed  in  passing, 
that  to  all  other  advantages  of  speaking",  which  are  sup- 
posed to  belong-  to  one  side  of  the  house — may  be  added 
—the  graceful  use  of  the  right  hand. 

The  belter  to  conceive  the  position  of  two  speakers  in 
a  scene,  a  plate  is  given  representing  their  respective 
attitudes  :  and  it  must  be  carefully  noted,  that  when  they 
are  not  speaking,  the  arms  must  hang  in  their  natural 
place  by  the  side  ;  unless  what  is  spoken  by  one  is  of 
such  importance,  as  to  excite  agitation  and  surprize  in 
the  other.  But  if  we  should  be  sparing  of  gesture  at  all 
times,  we  should  be  more  particularly  so  when  we  are 
not  speaking. 

From  v/hat  has  been  laid  down  it  will  evidently  appear, 
how  much  more  difficult  and  complicate  is  the  action  of 
a  scene  than  that  of  a  single  speech  ;  and  in  teaching 
both  to  children,  how  necessary  it  is  to  adopt  as  simple 
and  easy  a  method  as  possible.  The  easiest  method  of 
conveying  instruction  in  this  point,  will  be-  sufficiently 
difficult ;  and  therefore,  the  avoiding  of  aukwardness  and 
impropriety,  should  be  more  the  object  of  instruction, 
than  the  conveying  of  beauties. 

There  are  indeed  some  masters  who  are  against  teach- 
ing boys  any  action  as  all,  and  are  for  leaving  them  in 
this  point  entirely  to  nature.  It  is  happy,  however,  that 
they  do  not  leave  that  action  to  nature  which  is  acquired 
by  dancing  ;  the  deportment  of  their  pupils  would  soon 
convince  them  they  were  imposed  on  by  the  sound  cf 
v/ords.  Improved  and  beautiful  nature  &t he  object  of 
the  painter's  pencil,  the  poet's  pen,  and/The  rhetorician's 
action,  and  not  that  sordid  and  comnfcpiruture,  which 
is  perfectly  rude  and  uncultivated.  Nature  directs  us  to 
art,  and  art  selects  and  polishes  the  beauties  of  nature. 
It  is  not  sufficient  for  an  orator,  says  Quintiilian,  that  he 
is  a  man  :  he  must  be  an  improved  and  cultivated  man  : 
lie  must  be  a  iaan  favored  by  nature,  and  fashioned  by 
trt. 


OF    GESTURE.  335 

But  the  necessity  of  adopting  some  method  of  teaching 
action,  is  too  evident  to  need  proof.  Boys  will  infallibly 
contract  some  action  :  to  require  them  to  stand  stock  still 
\vhile  they  are  speaking  an  impassioned  speech,  is  not 
only  exacting  a  very  difficult  task  from  them,  but  is  in  a 
great  measure  checking  their  natural  exertions.  If  they 
are  left  to  themselves,  they  will  in  all  probability  fall 
into  very  wild  and  ungraceful  action,  which,  when  once 
formed  into  a  habit,  can  scarcely  ever  be  corrected  :  giv- 
ing them  therefore  a  general  outline  of  good  action,  must 
be  of  the  utmost  consequence  to  their  progress  and  im- 
provement in  pronunciation. 

The  great  use,  therefore,  of  a  system  of  action  like  the 
present,  is,  that  a  boy  will  never  be  embarrassed  for  want 
of  knowing  what  to  do  with  his  legs  and  arms;  nor  will 
he  bestow  that  attention  on  his  action^  which  ought  to 
be  directed  to  his  pronunciation  :  he  \vl\l  always  be  in  a 
position  which  will  not  disgrace  his  figure,  and  when  this 
gesture  is  easy  to  him,  it  may  serve  as  a  ground  work  to 
something  more  perfect  :  he  may  either,  by  his  own  ge- 
nius or  his  master's  instructions,  build  some  other  action 
upon  it,  which  may  in  time  give  it  additional  force  and 
variety. 

Thus,  what  seemed  either  unworthy  the  attention,  or 
too  difficult  for  the  execution  of  others,  the  author  of  the 
present  publication  has  ventured  to  attempt.  A  con- 
viction of  the  necessity  of  teaching  some  system  of  action, 
and  the  abundant  success  of  the  present  system  in  ORC  of 
ihe  most  respectable  academies  near  London,  has  deter- 
mined him  to  publish  it,  for  the  use  of  such  seminaries  as 
make  English  pronunciation  a  part  of  their  discipline. 

It  may  not  be  useless  to  observe,  thct  boys  should  be 
classed  in  this,  as  in  every  other  kind  of  instruction 
according  to  their  abilities.  That  a  class  should  not 
consist  of  more  than  ten;  that  about  eight  or  ten  lines 
of  some  speech,  should  be  read  first  by  the  teacher,  then 
by  the  boy  who  reads  best,  and  then  by  the  rest  in  order, 
all  having  a  book  of  the  same  kind,  and  all  reading  tho 
same  portion.  This  portion  they  must  be  ordered  to  get 
by  heart  against  the  next  lesson  ;  and  then  the  first  boy 
must  speak  it,  standing  at  some  distance  before  the  rent, 
K  k 


E  L  E  M.  E  NT  S 

in  the  manner  directed  in  the  plates  ;  the  second  boy 
must  succeed  him,  and  so  on  till  they  have  all  spoken. 
After  which  another  portkm  must  be  read  to  them,  which 
they  must  read  and  speak  in  the  same  manner  as  before. 
Y/hen  they  have  gone  through  a  speech  in  this  manner 
by  portions,  the  two  or  three  first  boys  may  be  ordered, 
against  the  next  lesson  to  speak  the  whole  speech  ;  the 
next  lesson  two  or  three  more,  and  so  on  to  the  rest.  This 
will  excite  emulation,  and  give  the  teacher  an  opportuni- 
ty pf  ranking  them  according  to  their  merit, 


.CTION  TIL 

;ir  expressing^  wiih  Propriety)  the  principal  Passions 
and  Humors  which  occur  in  Reading  or  public  Speaking* 


5  VERY  part  of  the  human  frame  contributes  to  ex- 
press  the  passions  and  emotions  of  the  mind,  and  to 
Uiow,  in  general,  its  present  state.  The  head  is  sometimes 
erected,  sometimes  hung  clown,  sometimes  drawn  sudden- 
ly back  with  an  air  of  disdain,  sometimes  shows  by  a  nod, 
a  particular  person  or  object ;  gives  assent,  or  deni- 
al, by  different  motions  ;  threatens  by  one  sort  of  move- 
ment, approves  by  another,  and  expresses  suspicion  by  a 
third. 

The  arms  are  sometimes  both  thrown  out,  sometimes 
the  right  alone.  Sometimes  they  are  lifted  up  as  high  as 
the  face,  to  express  wonder  ;  sometimes  held  out  before 
the  breast,  to  show  fear  ;  spread  forth  with  the  hands, 
open,  to  express  desire  or  affection  :  the  hands  clapped 
in  surprise  and  in  sudden  joy  and  grief,  the  right  hand 
clenched,  and  the  arms  brandished,  to  threaten  ;  the 
two  arms  set  a-kimbo,  to  look  big,  and  express  contempt 
or  courage.  With  the  hands,  we  solicit,  we  refuse,  we 
promise,  we  threaten,  we  dismiss,  we  invite,  we  intreat, 
V7c-  express  aversion,  fear,  doubting,  denial,  asking,  af- 


OF    GESTURE.  ,~2T 

firmation,  negation,  joy,  grief,  confession,  penittnc-  - 
With   the   hands  we  describe,  and  point   out   all  cfr 
stances  of  time,  place,    and   manner  of  what  we   relate- 
we  excite  the  passions  of  others,  and  sooth  Uwm  •  >« 
approve  and  disapprove,  permit  and  prohibit,  admire  o- 
Die  hands  serve  us  instead  of  many  sorts  of 
woras  and  where  the  language  of  the  tongue  is  unknown, 
that  of  the  hands  is  understood,  being  universal,  and  com- 
mon to  :i!!  nations. 

The  legs  advance,  or  retreat',  to  express,  desire,  or  w-~ 
sion,  love,  or  hatred,  courage,  or  fear,  and  produce  exult- 
ation, or  leaping  in  sudden  joy  ;  and  the  stamping  oft'- 
loot  expresses  earnestness,  anger,  and  threatenm-.-? 

Especially  the  face,  being  furnished  with  a  variety  of 
muscles,  does  more  in  expressing  the  pas.ions  of  the  !;i"inu, 
than  the  whole  human  frame  besides,  '!>c  d'»n~e  of 
color  (in  white  people)  shows,  by  turns,  anwr  bv'W- 
>ess,  and  sometimes  by  paleness,  fear  likewise  by  wfe- 
ness,  and  shame  by  blushing.  Every  feature  contributes 

I,  ?  Fhe  muUth  °pen>  8hows  one  stnte  of  the  mind, 

shut,   another ;  the  gnashing  of  teeth,   another.      The 
:orehead  smooth,  eyebrows  arched  and  easy,  show  traa- 
qtliflity  or  joy.     Mirth  opens  the  mouth  toward  the  ears 
cnsps  the  nose,  half-slrots  the  eyes,  and  sometimes  fills 
chem  with   tears.     The  front   wrinkled  into  frowns,  and 
the  eyebrows  overhanging  the  eyes,   like  clouds,  fraUht 
v,  th  tempest,  show  a  mind  agitated  with  fury.     Above 
.  '  ihc,.^'e  shows  the  very  spirit  in  a  visible  form.     In 
every  Afferent  state  of  the  mind,  it  assumes  .dSbiwJ 
appearance.     Joy   brightens  and   opens  it.     Gri»f  half- 

from";  TV      rTRS  U  ^  tearS>      Hatred    and  »n^,  fla^h 

fromitl.ke  lightnmg.     Love  darts  from  it  fa  timers 

ike  tne  orient  beam.     Jealousy,  and  squinting  envy  dan 

neir  contag.ous  blasts  from  the  eye.  And  devote/rat 

it  to  the  skies,  as  if  the  soul  of  the  holy  man  were  qoinp  to 

take  its  flight  to  heaven. 

The  force  and  attitude  and  looks  alone  appears  in  a 

wonder ously  strikin g  manner,  in  the  works  of  STe  painter 

statuary,  who  have  the  delicate  art  of  making  the 

flat  canvas   and  rocky  marble  utter  every   passion  of  the 

human  mmd,  and  touch  the  soul  of  the  sp  ctcuor,   L  iT 


3S8 


ELEMENTS. 


PLATE  IV, 


HI! 


OF    GESTURE.  S89 

iiie  picture,  or  statue,  spoke  the  pathetic  language  cf 
Shakspeare.  It  is  no  wonder,  then,  that  masterly  action, 
joined  with  powerful  elocution,  should  be  irresistible. 
And  the  variety  of  expression,  by  looks  and  gestures  is  so 
great,  that,  as  is  well  known,  a  whole  play  c*.n  be  repre- 
sented without  a  word  spoken. 

The  following  are,  I  believe,  the  prlncip;cV  passions,  hu- 
mors, sentiments  and  intentions,  which  are  to  be  express- 
ed by  speech  and  action,  And  I  hope-  it  \vill  be  allowed 
by  the  reader,  that  it  is  nearly  ia  the  folio, ting  niann.tr, 
chut  nature  expresses  ihevn. 

f.r>-atiqiilUity^  c-r  a/ia'taj,  appears  by  the  composure  of 
Countenance,  and  general  repose  of  the  body  wicl 
limbs,  without  the  exertion  of  any  one  muscle.  The 
countenance  open  :  the  forehead  smooth  ;  the  eyebrows 
arched  ;•  the  month  just  not  shut ;  and  the  eyes  passi;^ 
v,  ith  an  easy  motion  from  object  to  object,  bat  not  d.vvel! 
.«•)£  long  upon  any  one. 

.     ,  .  fcgift  ndc-3  a  smile,  opening    L 


Jlfir/A,  or  Iru^k^r^  opens  the  mouth  still  more  towards 
the  cars;  crisps  the  nose  ;  lessens  the  aperture  of  the 
eyes,  and  something  fills. them  with  tears  :  shakes  ar::I 
convulses  the  whole  frame  ;  giving  considerable  pah-i 
which  occasions  holding  the  iiidts* 

"xiUtrih  ii  sj)ort,  without  real  anirnosUfj  puts  0:1  the 
aspect  of  cheerfulness.  The  tone  of  voice  is  sprightly. 
With  contempt,  or  disgust,  it  casts  a  look  asquint,  from 
.  time  to  time,  at  the  object  ;  and  quits  .he  cheerful  aspect 
ibr  one  mixed  between  an  affected  grin  s-nd  sourness. 
Xhe  upper  lip  is  drawn  up. with  an  e.ir  c-f  disdain,  Tit* 
arniij  are  set  a-kimbo  on  -.he  hips 
now  and  then  thrown  out  toward 
were  going  to  strike  uncther  a  sllgl  •'r.-hantkd  blow- 
The  pitch  of  the  voice  rather  loud  h  and 

sneering  ;  the  sentences  short  ;  i\-  y-rictk 

with   rnock-praise   intermixed.     There   are  iriatnnces    cf 
raillery  in  scripture  itbelf,  as   I  Kings  xvii,  and  Ist. 
It  is  not,  therefore,   beneath  the  dignity  of  the  piiij~.lt  ora- 
tor, occasionally  to  use  it,  in  the  cause  of    , 
hibiting   vice   in    a    ludicrous   appearance.     N> 
V  think  raillery  unworthy   the   attention  of  t;,. 
K  k  2 


300  E  L  E  M-  E  N  T  S 

as   it    may  occasionally  corne  in,  not   unusefully,  in; 
pleadings,    as  \?ell  as  any  other   stroke  of  ornament,   or 
entertainment. 

Buffoonery  assumes  an  arch,  sly,  leering  gravity.  Must 
not  quit  its  serious  aspect,  though  all  should  laugh  to 
burst  ribs  of  steel.  This  command  of  face  is  somewhat 
difficult  ;  though  not  so  hard,  I  should  think,  as  to  re- 
strain the  contrary  sympathy,  I  mean  of  weeping  with 
those  who  weep. 

Jciji  when  sudden. and  violent,  expresses  itself  by  clap- 
ping of  lianas,  and  exultation  or  leaping.  The  eyes  are 
opened  wide  ;  perhaps  filled  with  tears  ;  often  raised  to 
heaven,  especially  by  devout  persons.  The  countenance 
is  smiling,  not  composedly,  but  with  features  aggrava- 
ted. The  voiie  rises  from  time  to  time,  to  very  high 
iiotes. 

Delight^  cr  Pleasure,  as  when  one  is  entertained,  or 
ravished  with  music,  painting,  oratory,  or  any  such  ele- 
gancy, shows  itself  by  the  looks,  gestures,  and  utterance 
of  joy  ;  but  moderated. 

Gravity,  or  Seriousness,  the  mind  fixed  upon  some  im- 
portant subject,  draws  down  the  eyebrows  a  little  ;  casts 
down,  or  shuts,  or  raises  the  eyes  to  heaven  ;  shuts  the 
mouth,  and   pinches  the  lips  close.     The  posture  of  the  •. 
body  and  limbs  is  composed,  and  without  much  motion.  , 
The  speech, if  any,  slow  and  solemn  ;  the  tone  unvarying*  . 

Inquiry  into  an  obscure  subject,    fixes  the  body  in  one 
posture,  the  head  stooping,    and  the  eye  poring,  the  eye- , 
brows  drawn  down. 

Attention  to  an  esteemed  or  superior  character,  lias  the 
same  aspect  ;  and  requires  silence  ;  the  eyes  often  cast 
clown  upon  the  ground  ;  sometimes  fixed  on  the  face  oi 
the  speaker  ;  but  not  too  pertly* 

Modesty,  or  Submission,  bends  the  body  forward  ;  levels 
the  eyes  to  the  breast,  if  not  to  the   feet,  of  the  sir 
character.     The   voice  low  •;  the  tone  submissive  ;  and 
words  few. 

Perfilexity,  or  Anxiety,  which  is  always  attended  with-- 
some  degree  of  fear  and  uneasiness,  draws  all  the  parts, 
of  the  body  together  ;  gathers,  up  the  arms  upon  the 
breast,  unless  one  hand  covers  the  eyts,  or  rubs  the  fore- 
head ;  draws  down,  the  eyebrows';  lianas. the  head- 


O  F    G  E  S  T  U  R  E.  391. 

the  breast  ;  cast  down  the  eyes,  shuts  and  pinches  the 
eyelids  close  ;  shuts  the  mouth,  and  pinches  the  lips 
close,  or  bites  them.  Suddenly  the  whole  body  is  vehe- 
mently, agitated,  The  person  walks  about  busily  ;  stops 
abruptlyo  .  Then  he  talks  to  himself,  or  makes  grimaces. 
If  he  speaks  to  another,  his  pauses  are  very  long  ;  the 
tone  of  his  voice  unvarying,  ami  his  sentences  broken  •, 
expressing  half,  and,  keeping  in  half  of.  what  arises  in  his 
mind, 

Vexation^  occasioned  by  some  real  or  imaginary  mis- 
fortune, agitates  the  whole  frame,  and,  besides  expressing 
itself  with  the  looks,  gestures,  restlessness,  and  tone  of 
perplexity,  it  adds  complaint,  fretting  and  lamenting. 

Pity,  &  mixed  passion  of  love  and  grief,  looks  down 
upon  distress  with  lifted  hands  ;  eyebrows  drawn  down  ; 
mouth  open  ;:  and  features  drawn  together.  Its  expres- 
sion, as  to  looks  and  gesture,  is-  the  same  with  those  of  ' 
suffering  (see  Suffering,}  but  more  moderate,  as  the  pain- 
ful feelings  are  only  sympathetic,  and  therefore  one  re- 
move. as  it  .were,  more  distant  from,  the  soul,  th#n  what 
one  feels  in  his  own  person.-.. 

Grief,  sudden  and  violent,  expresses  itself  by  beatinp; 
i,e  head  ;  grovelling  on  the  ground  ;  tearing  off  gar- 
ments, hair,  an'd  ilesh  ;  screaming  aloud,  weeping,  stamp- 
ing with  the  feet,  lifting  the  eyes,  from  time  to  time,  to 
r,eaven  ;  hurrying  to  and  fro,  running  distracted,  or 
fainting  away  sometimes  without  recovery.  Sometimes 
violent  grief  produces-  a  torpid  silence,  resembling  total 


Melancholy,  or  fixed  grief,  is  gloomy*  sedentary,  mo-  - 
tionjess*.  The  lower  jaw  falls;  the  lips  pale,  the  eyes 
i-.re  cast  down,  half  shut,  eyelids  swelled  and  red,  or  livid, 
i^urs  trickjing  silent,  and  unwiped  ;  with  a  total  inatten- 
tion  to  every  thing  that  passes.  Words,  if  any,  few,  and 
those  dragged  out,  rather  than  spoken  ;  the  accents  weak, 
i-.ncl  interrupted,  sighs  breaking  into  the  middle  of  scnten- 

.  and  words.  . 

Despair,  as  in  a  condemned  criminal,  or  one,  who  has 

]ost  all  hope  of  salvation,  bends  the  eyebrows  downward  ; 

iouds  the   forehead;  rolls  the  eyes  around  frightfully  ; 

opens  the  mouth  toward   the  ears  ;  bites  the  lips  ;  widens 

nostrils  ;  gnashes  with  the.  teeth,  like  a  fierce  wild 


D02  .        .ELEMENTS 

beast.  The  heart  is  too  much  hardened  to  suffer  tears  to 
flow7;  yet  the  eyeballs  will  be  red  and  inflamed  like  those 
of  an  animal  in  a  rabid  state.  The  head  is  hung  down 
upon  the  breast.  The  arms  are.  bende-d  at  the  elbows,  the 
fij>:s  are  clenched  hard  ;  the  veins  and  muscles  swelled  ; 
the  skin  livid  ;  and  the  whole  body  strained  and  Violently- 
agitated  ;  groans,  expressive  of  inward  torture,  more  fre- 
quently uttered  than  'words.  I.f  aoy  words,  they  are  few, 
and  expressed  with  a  sullen,  'eager  bitterness  ;  the  tone 
of  voice  often  loud  and  fimous.  As  it  often  drives  people 
to  distraction,  anrl  self-murder,  it  can.- hardly  be  over-acted 
by  one  who  wo.uld  represent  it. 

-£>cr,  violent  and.  sudden,  opens  very  wide  the  eyes  and 
mouth  ;.  shortens  the  nose  ;  draws  down  the  eyebrows  ; 
£ives  the  countenance  an- air  of  wikhitss  ;  covers  it  with 
a  deadly  paleness-.;  draws  back  the  elbows  parallel  with 
the  sick-s,;..  lifts  up  the  open  hands,  the  lingers  together, 
to  the  height  of  the.  break,  so  that  the  palms  face  the 
dreadful  object,  as  shields  opposed  against  it.  One  foot  is 
drawn  back,  behind  the.  other,  so  that  the  body  seems 
shrinking  from  the  danger,  and  putting  itself  in  a  posture 
for  flight*.  The  heart  heats  violently;  the  breath  is  fetch- 
ed quick  and  sho:;t ;.  the  whole  body  is  thrown  into  a  gen- 
eral tremor,.  Tim  voke  is  weak  avid  trembling  ;  the  sen- 
tences are  &hor*,  and  the  meaning  confused  and  incohe- 
rent. Imminent  danger,  real,  or  fancied,  produces  in  tim- 
orous persons,  r.s  v/cmen  and  children,  violent  shrieks, 
vkhout  any  articulate  sound  of  words  ;  and  sometimes  ir- 
recoverably confounds  the  understanding  ;  produces  faint- 
ing;, which  is  sometimes  followed  by  death.. 

SLamS)  or  a  sense  of  one's  appearing  to  a  disadvantage., 
/s  Lllow-creatures;.  turns  away  the  face  from, 
-the  beliCiJcrs,  covers-  it  with  blushes  ;  hangs  the  head<; 
casts  ck.  v:-  i;>e  eyes  ;  draws  down  the  eyebrows  ;  either 
ei'..vikeri  the  percior,  dumb,  or  if  he  attempts  to  say  any  thing 
in  his  own  defence,  causes  his  tongue,  to  faulter,  and  con- 
founds his  utterance  ;  and  puts  him  upon  making  a  tho'> 
sar^d  gestures  and  grimaces,  to  keep  hiiiiselfin  connlen- 
ance  ;  all  of  which  only  heighten  the  confusion  of  his  ap- 
pcarancc. 

JReinorje)  or   a  painful  sense  of  guilt,  casts    down  the 
vj  nod;    and  clouds  it  with  anxiety  ;  hangs  dowi 


OF'GESTUR'E.  393 

the  head,  draws  the  eyebrows  down  upon  the  eyes.  The 
right  hand  beats  the  breast.  The  teeth  gnash  with  an- 
guish. The  whole  body  is  strained  and  violently  agitated. 
If  this  strong  remorse  is  succeeded  by  the  more  gracious 
disposition  of  penitence,  or  contrition  ;  then  the  eyes 
are  raised  (but  with  great  appearance  of  doubting  and 
fear)  to  the  throne  of  heavenly  mercy  ;  and  immedi- 
ately cast  down  again  to  the  earth.  Then  floods  of  tears 
are  seen  to  flow.  The  knees  are  bended  ;  or  the  body 
prostrated  on  the  ground.  The  arms  are  spread  in  a  sup- 
pliant posture,  and  the  voice  of  deprecation  is  uttered 
with  sighs,  groans,  timidity,  hesitation,  and  trembling. 

Courage,  steady,  and  cool,  opens  the  countenance,  gives 
the  whole  form  an  erect  and  graceful  air.  The  accents 
are  strong,  full-mouthed  and  articulate,  the  voice  firm  and 
even. 

Boasting,  or  affected  courage,  is  loud,  blustering, 
threatening.  The  eyes  stare  ;  the  eyebrows  drawn  down  ; 
•he  face  red  and  bloated  j  the  rnbuth  pouts  out  ;  the 
voice  hollow  and  thundering  ;  the  arms  arc  set  a-kimbo  ; 
the  head  often  nodding  in  a  menacing  manner  ;  and  the 
right  fist,  clenched,  is  brandished,  from  time  to  time,  at 
the  person  threatened.  The  right  foot  is  often  stamped 
tipon  the  ground,  and  the  legs  take  such  large  strides,  and 
the  steps  are  so  heavy,  that  the  earth  seems  to  tremble 
tinder  them.  * 

Pride,  assumes  a  lofty  look,  bordering  upon  the  aspect 

!  attitude  of  anger.  The  eyes  open,  but  with  the 
eyebrows  considerably  drawn  down  ;  the  mouth  pouting 
out,  mostly  shut,  and  the  lips  pinched  close.  The 
words  walk  out  a-strut,  with  a  slow,  stiff,  bombastic  affect- 
ation of  importance.  The  arms  generally  a-kimbo,  and 
the  legs  at  a  distance  from  one  another,  taking  large 
trageflf-strWes. 

Qbxtin&cy  adds  to  the  aspect  of  pride,  a  dogged  sour- 
ness, like  that  of  malice.  See  Malice. 

Authority  opens  the  countenance  ;  but  draws  down  the 
tvebfows  a  little,  so  fur  as  to  give  the  look  of  gravity. 
See  Gravity. 

Gomrnandrng  requires  an  air  a  little  more  peremptory, 
•with  a  look  a  little  severe  or  stern.  The  hand  is  held 
out  and  moved  towards  the  person,  to  whom  the  en 


394  E  L  E  M.  E  N  T  S 

is  given,  with  the  palm  upwards,  and  the  head  nods  tc- 
ward  him. 

forbidding,  on  the  contrary,  draws  the  head  back- 
wards, and  pushes  the  hand  from  one  with  the  palm 
downward,  as  if  going  to  lay  it  upon  the  person,  to  hold 
him  clown  immovable,  that  he  may  not  do  what  is  forbid- 
den him. 

Affirming  especially  with  a  judicial  oath,  is  expressed 
by  lifting  the  open  right  hand,  and  eyes,  toward  heaven  ; 
or,  if  conscience  is  appealed  to  by  laying  the  right  hand 
upon  the  breast. 

Denying  is  expressed  by  pushing  the  open  right  hand 
from  one  ;  and  turning  the  face  the  contrary  way.  See 
Aversion. 

Differing  in  sentiment  may  be  expressed  as  refusing* 
See  Refusing. 

Agreeing  in  opinion,  or  conviction,  as  granting.  See 
Granting. 

Exhorting,  as  by  a  general  at  the  head  of  his  army, 
requires  a  kind,  complacent  look,  unless  matter  of  offence 
has  passed,  as  neglect  of  duty,  or  the  like. 

Judging  demands  a  grave,  steady  look,  with  deep  at- 
tention ;  the  countenance  altogether  clear  from  any  ap- 
pearance of  either  disgust  or  favor.  The  accents  slow, 
distinct,  emphatical,  accompanied  with  little  action,  and 
that  very  grave. 

Jtzjiro-ving  puts  on  a  stern  aspect,  roughens  the  voice? 
and  is  accompanied  with  gestures  not  much  different' 
from  those  of  threatening,  but  not  so  lively. 

Acquitting  is  performed  with  u  benevolent,  tranquil 
countenance,  and  tone  of  vclce  ;  the  right  hand,  if  not  both, 
open,  waved  gemly  toward  the  person  acquitted,  expres- 
sing dismission.  See  Diamiasing: 

Condemning  assumes  a  severe  look,  but  mixed  with  pity* 
The  sentence  is  to  be  expressed  as  with  reluctance.- 

Teaching,  explaining,  inculcating,  or  giving  orders 
ta  an  inferior,  requires  tin  air  of  superiority  to  be  as- 
sumed. The  features  are  to  be  composed  to  an  author- 
itative gravity.  The  eye  steady,  and  open,  the  eye- 
brow a  little  drawn  down  over  it  ;  but  not  so  much  as  to 
look  surly  or  dogmatical.  The  tone  of  voice  varying 
.according  as  the  emphasis  requires^  of  which  a  good 


OF    C  E  S  T  U  R  E.  595 

deal  is  necessary  in  expressing  matter  of  this  sort.  The 
pitch  of  the  voice  to  be  strong  and  clear  ;  the  articula- 
tion distinct  ;  the  utterance  slow,  and  the  manner  pe- 
remptory. This  is  the  proper  manner  of  pronouncing 
the  commandments  in  the  communion  office.  But  (I  am 
sorry  to  say  it)  they  are  too  commonly  spoken  in  the  same 
manner  as  the  prayers,  than  which  nothing  can  be  more 
unnatural. 

Pardoning  differs  from  acquitting,  in  that  the  latter 
means  clearing  a  person  alter  trial,  of  gxrilt ;  whereas  the 
former  supposes  guilt,  and  signifies  merely  delivering  the 
guilty  person  from  punishment.  Pardoning  requires  some 
degree  of  severity  of  aspect  and  tone  of  voice,  because  the 
pardoned  person  is  not  an  object  of  entire  unmixed  appro- 
bation ;  otherwise  its  expression  is  much  the  same  as 
granting.  See  Granting. 

Arguing  requires  a  cool,  sedate,  attentive  aspect^  an-d 
a  clear,  slow,  emphatica!  accent,  with  much  demon  station 
by  the  hand.  It  differs  from  teaching  (See  Teaching}  in 
that  the  look  of  authority  is  not  wanting  in  arguing. 

Dismissing^  with  approbation,  is  done  with  a  kind  as- 
pect and  tone  of  voice  ;  the  right  hand  open,  gently  wrav- 
ed  towards  the  person.  With  displeasure,  besides  the 
look  and  tone  of  voice  which  suits  displeasure,  the  hand 
is  hastily  thrown  out  toward  the  person  dismissed,  the 
back  part  toward  him,  the  countenance  at  the  same  time 
turned  away  from  him. 

Refusing,  when  accompanied  with  displeasure,  is  ex- 
pressed nearly  in  the  same  may.  Without  displeasure  it 
is  done  with  a  visible  reluctance,  which  occasions  the 
bringing  out  the  words  slowly,  with  such  a  shake  of  the 
head,  and  shrug  of  the  shoulders,  as  is  natural  upon  hear- 
ing of  somewhat,  which  gives  us  concern. 

Granting^  when  done  with  unreserved  good  will,  is  ac- 
companied with  a  benevolent  aspect,  and  tone  of  voice  ; 
the  right  hand  pressed  to  the  left  breast,  to  signify  how 
heartily  the  favor  is  granted,  and  the  benefactor's  joy  in 
conferring  it. 

Dtfiendance.     See  Modesty. 

Veneration  or  worshipping,  comprehends  several  arti- 
cles, as  ascription,  confession,  remorse,  intercession, 
thanksgiving,  deprecaticn,  petition,  &c.  Ascription  of 


396  E  L  E  M  -E  N  T  S 

honor  and  praise  to  the  peerless,  supreme  Majesty  01 
Heaven,  and  confession  and  deprecation,  are  to  be  uttered 
with  all  that  humility  of  looks  and  gesture,  which  can  ex- 
hibit the  most  profound  self-abasement  and  annihilation, 
before  One,  whose  superiority  is  infinite*  The  head  is 
a  little  raised,  but  with  the  most  apparent  timidity  and 
dread  ;  the  eye  is  lifted,  but  immediately  cast  clov:u 
again,  or  closed  for  a  moment ;  the  eyebrows  are  drawn 
clown  in  the  most  respectful  manner;  the  features,  and 
the  whole  body  and  limbs,  are  all  composed  to  the  most 
profound  gravity  ;  one  posture  continuing,  without  con- 
siderable change,  during  the  whole  performance  of  the 
duty.  The  knees  bended,  or  the  whole  body  pros- 
trate, or  if  the  posture  be  standing,  which  scripture  does 
not  disallow,  bending  forward,  as  ready  to  prostrate 
itself.  The  arms  spread  out,  but  modestly,  as  high  as 
the  breast  ;  the  hands  open.  The  tone  of  the  voice  will 
be  submissive,  timid,  equal,  trembling,  weak,  suppliant. 
The  words  will  be  brought  out  with  a  visible  anxiety  and 
diffidence,  approaching  to  hesitation  ;  few,  and  slow  ;  no- 
thing of  vain  repetition,  harranguing,  Hewers  of  rhetoric, 
or  affected  figures  of  speech  ?  all  simplicity,  humility? 
and  lowliness,  such  as  becomes  a  reptile  of  the  dust,  when 
presuming  to  address  Him,  .whose  greatness  is  tremen- 
dous beyond  all  created  conception.  In  intercession  for 
our  fellow  creatures,  which  is  prescribed  in  the  scriptures, 
and  in  thanksgiving,  the  countenance  will  naturally  as- 
sume a  small  degree  of  cheerfulness  beyond  what  it  was 
clothed  with  in  confession  of  sin  and  deprecation  of 
punishment.  But  all  affected  ornament  of  speech,  or 
gesture  in  devotion,  deserves  the  severest  censure,  as  be- 
ing somewhat  much  worse  than  absurd. 

Respect  for  a  superior,  puts  on  the  looks  and  gesture  of 
modesty.  ..See  Modesty. 

Hope  brightens  the. countenance  ;  arches  the  eyebrows ; 
gives  the  eyes  an  eager,  wishful  look  :  opens  the  mouth 
to  half  a  smile  ;  bends  the  body  a  little  forward,  the  feet 
equal  ;  spreads  the  arms,  with  the  hands  open,  as  to  re- 
ceive the  object  of  its  longings.  The  tone  of  the  voice  is 
eager,  and  unevenly,  inclining  to  that  of  joy  :  but  curbed 
by  a  degree  of  doubt  and  anxiety*  Desire  differs  from 
hope  as  to  expression,  in  this  particular,  that  there  is  more 


'     E     G    ••     G  T  U  R  E.  ,    $97 

jt  and  anxiety  in  the   former  than  in 
tbu  latter.     For  it  ife  one  thing  to  desire  what  is  agreeable,, 
another  to  have  a  prospect  of  actually  obtaining  it. 

Dctire  expresses  itself  by  bending  the  body  forward, 
and  stretching  the  arms  toward  the  object,  as  to  grasp  it. 
The  countenance  smiling-,  but  eager  and  wishful ;  the 
eyes  wide  open,  and  eyebrows  raised  ;  the  mouth  open  ; 
the  tone  of  voice  suppliant,  but  lively  and  cheerful,  unless 
there  be  distress  as  well  as  desire  ;  the  expressions  fluent 
.and  copious  ;  if  r>o  words  are  used,  sighs  instead  of  them  ; 
•  is  is  chieily  in  distress. 

Love  (successful)  lights  u.p  the  countenance  into  smiles. 
The  forehead  is  smoothed,  and  enlarged  ;  the  eyebrows 
are  arched  ;  the  mouth  a  little  open,  and  smiling  ;  the 
eyes  languishing,  antl  half-shut,  dote  upon  the  beloved  ob- 
ject. The  countenance  assumes  the  eager  and  wishful  look 
«  f  desire,  (see  Desire  above)  but  mixed  with  an  air  of  t>:it- 
'isfuction  and  repose.  The  accents  are  soit  and  winning  ; 
the  tone  of  voice  persuasive,  flattering,  pathetic,  various, 
musical,  rapturous,  as  in  joy.  (See  Joy.)  The  attitude 
much  the  same  with  that  of  desire.  Sometimes  both 
i  pressed  eagerly  to  the  bosom.  Love,  unsuccessful^ 
acids  an  air  of  anxiety  and  melancholy.  See  Perplexity 
-\  n  v  1  Me  Ian  ch  o!i>. 

Giving,  inviting^  soliciting,  and  such  I  ns,  which 

suppose  some  degree  of  affection,  real  ^  pictcnded,  are 
accompanied  with  much  the  same  looks  and  gestures  as 
express  love,  but  more  moderate. 

Wander  or  amazement,   (without  any   other  interesting 
passion,    as  love,  esteem,  8cc.)  opens  the  eyes,,  and  makes 
them  appear  very  prominent  ;  same  times  raises  them  >/? 
the  skies  ;  but  oftener,  -and  more  expressively,  fixes  them 
on  the  object,  if  the  cause  of  the  passion  be  a  ];• 
visible  object,  with  the   look,  all   except  the  vviidnc. 
r.jur,     (See  Fear..)     If  the  hands  hold  any  thing,  at 
iime  when  the  object  of  wonder  appears,  they  immediately 
let  it  drop,  unconscious,  and  the  whole  body  fines  in  the 
contracted,  stooping  posture  of  amazement  ;  the  mouth 
open  ;  the  hands  held  up  open,  nearly  in  the  : 
fear.     (See  Fear.)     The  first  excess  of  th, 
ull  utterance.     But  it  makes  amends  afterwards?  by  a  co- 
r,iousfjow  of  words  and  exclamations. 
L  1 


393  E  L  E  iM  E  N  T  S 

dd-miration,  a  mixed  passion,  consisting  of  wonder, 
with  love  or  esteem,  takes  away  the  familiar  gesture  and 
expression  of  simple  love.  (See  Lvvc.)  Keeps  the  res- 
pectful look  and  attitude.  (See  Modesty  and  Veneration.} 
The  eyes  are  opened  wide,  and  now  and  then  raised  to- 
ward  heaven.  The  mouth  is  opened.  The  hands  are 
jifted  up.  The  tone  of  the  voice  rapturous.  This  pas- 
sion expresses  itself  copiously,  making  great  use  of  the 
figure  hyperbole. 

Gratitude  puts  on  an  aspect  full  of  complacency.  (See 
Love.)  If  the  object  of  it  is  a  character  greatly  superior, 
it  expresses  much  submission.  (See  Modesty.)  The  right 
hand  pressed  upon  the  breast  accompanies,  very  properly, 
the  expression  of  a  sincere  and  hearty  sensibility  of  obliga- 
tion. 

Curiosity )  as  of  a  busy-body,  opens  the  eyes  and  mouth, 
lengthens  the  neck,  bends  the  body  forward,  and  fixes  it 
in  one  posture,  with  the  hands  nearly  in  that  of  admiration. 
See  Mmiration.  See  also  Desire,  Attention^  Hope^  Inqui- 
ry >  and  Perplexity. 

Persuasion  puts  on  the  looks  of  moderate  love.  See 
Love.}  Its  accents  are  soft,  flattering,  emphatical  and 
articulate. 

Tempting  or  wheedling  ^  expresses  itself  much  in  the 
same  way,  only  carrying  the  fawning  part  to  excess. 

Promising  is  expressed  with  benevolent  looks,  the  nod  of 
consent,  and  the  open  hands  gently  moved  towards  the 
person  to  whom  the  promise  is  made,  the  palms  upwards. 
The  sincerity  of  the  promiser  may  he'expressed  by  laying 
the  right  hand  gently  on  the  breast. 

Affectation  displays  itself  in  a  thousand  different  gestures, 
motions,  airs  and  looks,  according  to  the  character  which 
the  person  affects.  Affectation  of  learning  gives  a  stiff 
formality  to  the  whole  person.  The  words  come  stalking 
out  with  the  pace  of  a  funeral  procession;  and  every  sen- 
tence has  the  solemnity  of  an  oracle. — Affectation  of  piety 
turns  up  the  goggling  whites  of  the  eyes  to  heaven,  as  if 
the  person  were  in  a  trance,  and  fixes  them  in  that  posture 
so  long  that  the  brain  of  the  beholder  grows  giddy.  Then 
comes  up,  deep-grumbling,  a  holy  groan  from  the  lower 
parts  of  the  thorax  ;  but  so  tremendous  in  sound,  and  so 
long  protracted?  that  you  expect  to  see  a  goblin  rise,  like 


OF    G  E  S  T  U  R  E.  399 

an  exhalation  through  the  solid  earth.  Then  he  begins  to 
rock  from  side  to  side,  or  backward  and  forward,  like  an 
aged  pine  on  the  side  of  a  hill,  when  a  brisk  wind  blows. 
The  hands  are  clasped  together,  and  often  lifted,  and  the 
head  often  shaken  with  foolish  vehemence.  The  tone  of 
the  voice  is  canting,  or  sing-song  lullaby,  not  much  dis- 
tant from  an  Irish  howl,  and  the  words  godly  doggrel.— *- 
Affectation  of  beauty  and  killing,  puts  a  fine  woman  by 
turns  into  all  sorts  of  forms,  appearances  and  attitudes, 
but  amiable  ones.  She  undoes,  by  art,  or  rather  by 
aukwardness,  (for  true  art  conceals  itself)  all  that  nature 
had  done  for  her.  Nature  formed  her  almost  an  angel, 
and  she,  with  infinite  pains,  makes  herself  a  monkey. 
Therefore  this  species  of  affectation  is  easily  imitated, 
or  taken  off.  Make  as  many  and  as  ugly  grimaces,  mo- 
tions and  gestures  as  can  be  made,  and  take  care  that  na- 
ture never  peep  out,  and  you  represent  coquetish  affecta- 
tion to  the  life. 

Sloth  appears  by  yawning,  dosing,  snoring,  the  head 
dangling  sometimes  to  one  side,  sometimes  to  the  other  ; 
the  arms  and  leg*  stretched  out,  and  every  sinew  of  the 
body  unstrung  ;  the  eyes  heavy,  or  closed  ;  the  words,  if 
any,  crawl  out  of  the  mouth,  but  half-formed,  scarce  audi- 
ble to  any  ear,  and  broken  off  in  the  middle  by  powerful 
sleep. 

People,  who  walk  in  their  sleep,  (of  which  our  inimita- 
ble Shakspeare  has  in  his  tragedy  of  MACBETH,  drawn 
out  a  fine  scene)  are  said  to  have  their  eyes  open  ;  though 
they  are  not,  the  more  for  that,  conscious  of  any  thing, 
but  the  dream,  which  has  got  possession  of  their  imagina- 
tion. I  never  saw  one  of  those  persons,  therefore  cannot 
describe  their  manner  from  nature  ;  but  I  suppose,  their 
speech  is  pretty  much  like  that  of  persons  dreaming,  inar- 
ticulate, incoherent,  and  very  different,  in  its  tone,  from 
what  it  is  when  waking. 

Intoxication  shows  itself  by  the  eyes  half- shut,  sleepy, 
stupid,  inflamed.  An  idiot  smile,  a  ridiculous  surliness, 
or  affected  bravado,  disgraces  the  bloated  countenance. 
The  mouth  open  tumbles  out  nonsense  in  heaps,  without 
articulation  enough  for  any  ear  to  take  it  in,  and  unworthy 
of  attention,  if  it  could  be  taken  in.  The  head  seems  too 
heavy  for  the  neck.  The  arms  dangle  from  the  shoulders, 


406  ELEMENTS 

as  if  they  were  almost  cut  away,  and  hung  by  shreds.  Th? 
legs  loiter  and  bend  at  she  knees,  as  ready  lo  sink  under 
Ihe  weight  of  the  reeling  body.     And  a  general  incapacity,     ' 
corporeal  and  menial,  exhibits  human  nature  sunk  below 
the  brutal. 

Anger  (violent)  or  rage,  expresses  itself  with  rapidity, 
interruption,  noise,  harshness  and  trepidation.  The  neck 
stretched  out ;  the  head  forward,  often  nodding  and  sha- 
ken in  a  menacing  manner,  against  the  objeet  of  the  pas- 
sion. The  eyes  red,  inflamed,  staring,  rolling,  and  spark- 
ling ;  the  eyebrows  drawn  down  over  them  ;  and  the  fore- 
head wrinkled  into  clouds.  The  nostrils  stretched  wide  ; 
every  vein  swelled  ;  every  muscle  strained  ;  the  breast 
heaving,  and  the  breath  fetched  hard.  The  mouth  open* 
s>.nd  drawn  on  each  side  toward  the  ears,  showing  the 
teeth,  in  a  gnashing  posture.  The  face  bloated,  pale,  red, 
r,r  something  almost  black.  The  feet  stamping  ;  the  rh 
arm  often  thrown  out,  and  menacing  with  the  clenched 
iist  shaken,  and  a  general  and  violent-  -.agitation  of  the 
\vhole  body. 

Peevishness,  will  nature,  is  a  Tower  degree  of  anger  5 
and  is  therefore  expressed  in  the  above  manner,  only  more 
moderate,  with  half-sentences,  and  broken  speeches,  utter- 
ed hastily  ;  the  upper  lip  drawn  up  disdainfully  ;  the  eyes 
asquint  upon  the  object  of  displeasure. 

Malice,  or  s/iite^  sets  the  jaws,  or  gnashes  with  the  teeth  \ 
sends  blasting  flashes  from  the  eyes  ;  draws  the  mouth  to- 

.1  the  ears;  clenches  both  fists,  and  bends  the  ellx 
in  a  straining  manner.     The  tone  of  voico  and  expression, 
are  much  the  same  wilh  that  of  anger  ;  but  the  pitch  no£ 
so  loud. 

Envy  is  a  little  more  moderate  in  its  gestures,  that* 
malice  ;  but  much  the  same  in  kind. 

Revenge  expresses  itself  as  malice, 

Cruelty.     See  Anger >  Aversion^   Malice^   and  the  c 
irascible  passions. 

Complaining,  as  when  one  is  under  violent  V 
distorts    the    features:   almost    closes   the    tyc."  ;   s&i 
times  raises  them  wishfully  ;  opens  the  mouth  ;   gnashes 
with  the   teeth  ;  draws  up  the  upper  lip  ;  draws  do 
the   head    upon     the    breast,    and    the  whole  body   to- 
gether.    The  arms   are    violently  bent  at    the  elb: 


OF    G  E  S  T  U  R  E.  ^C! 

and  the  fists  strongly  clenched.  The  voice  is  uttered  in 
groans,  lamentations,  and  violent  screams.  Extreme  tor- 
lure,  produces  fainting,  and  death. 

fatigue  from  severe  labor,  gives  a  general  languor  to 
the  whole  body.  The  countenance  is  dejected.  (See 
Grief.)  The  arms  hang  listless  ;  the  body  (if  sitting  or 
lying  along  be  not  the  posture)  stoops,  as  in  old  age.— 
(See  Dotage.)  The  legs,  if  walking,  are  dragged  heavily 
along,  and  seem  at  every  step  ready  to  bend  under  the 
weight  of  the  body.  The  voice  is  weak,  and  the  words 
hardly  enough  articulated  to  be  understood, 

Aversion  or  hatred,  expressed  to,  or  of  any  person  or 
thing,  that  is  odious  to  the  speaker,  occasions  his  drawing 
back,  as  avoiding  the  approach  of  what  he  hates  ;  the 
hands,  at  the  same  time  thrown  out  spread,  as  if  to  keep 
it  off.  The  face  turned  away  from  that  side  toward  which 
the  hands  are  thrown  out;  the  eyes  looking  angrily  and 
asquint  the  same  way  the  hands  are  directed  ;  the  eyebrows 
drawn  downwards  ;  the  upper  lip  disdainfully  drawn  up  ; 
but  the  teeth  set.  The  pitch  of  the  voice  loud  ;  the  tone 
chiding,  unequal,  surly,,  vehement.  The  sentences  short 
and  abrupt.. 

Commendation)  or  a/ifirobatwn,  from  a  superior,  puts  on 
the  aspect  of  love,  (excluding  desire  and  respect)  and  ex- 
presses itself  in  a  mild  tone  of  voice  ;  the  arms  gently 
spread  ;  the  palms  of  the  hands  to-ward  the  person  ap- 
proved. Exhorting  or  encouraging,  as  of  an  army  by  a 
general,  is  expressed  with  some  part  of  the  looks  and 
action  of  courage, 

Jealousy  would  be  likely  to  be  well  expressed  by  one, 
who  had  often  seen  prisoners  tortured  in  the  dungeons  of 
the  inquisition,  or  who  had  seen  what  the  dungeons  of  the 
inquisition  are  the  best  earthly  emblem  of;  I  mean  Hell. 
For  next  to  being  in  the  Pope's  or  in  Satan's  prison,  is  the 
torture  of  him  who  is  possessed  with  the  spirit  of  jealousy. 
Being  a  mixture  of  passions  directly  contrary  to  one  ano- 
ther, the  person^  whose  soul  is  the  seat  of  such  confusion 
and  tumult,  must  be  in  as  much  greater  misery  thsn 
Prometheus,  with  the  vulture  tearing  his  liver,  as  the 
pains  of  the  mind  arc  greater  than  those  of  the  body. 
Jealousy  is  a  ferment  of  love,  hatred,  hope,  fear,  shame, 
anxiety,  suspicion,  grief,  pity,  envy,  pride,  rage,  cruelty^. 


4u:2  ELEMENTS 

vengeance,  madness,  and  if  there  be  any  other  ton 
ing  passion  which  can  agitate  the  human  mind.  Tl 
fore  to  express  jealousy  well,  requires  that  one  know  how- 
to  represent  justly  all  these  passions  by  turns,  (See  JLt>-ce\ 
Hatred,  Sec.)  and  often  several  of  them  together.  Jeal- 
ousy shows  itself  by  restlessness,  peevishness,  thoughtfu1- 
ness,  anxiety,  absence  of  mind.  Sometimes  it  bursts  out 
in  piteo-is  complaint  and  weeping  ;  then  a  gleam  of  hope, 
that  all  is  yet  well,  lights  up  the  countenance  into  a  mo- 
iv  smile.  Immediately  the  face  clouded  with  a 
general  ?loom,  shows  the  mind  overcast  again  with  hor- 
rid suspicions  and  frightful  imaginations.  Then  the  arms 
are  folded  upon  the  breast  ;  the  fists  violently  clenched  ;, 
the  rolling,  bloody  eyes  dart  fury.  He  hurries  to  and  fro  ;-. 
he  has  no  more  rest  than  a  ship  in  a  troubled  sea,  the 
sport  of  winds  and  waves.  Again,  he  composes  himself 
a  little  to  reflect  on  the  charms  of  the  suspected  person. 
She  appears  to  his  imagination  like  the  sweetness  of  the 
rising  dawn.  Then  his  monster-breeding  fancy  represents, 
her  as  false  as  she  is  fair.  Then  ie  roars  out  as  on  the 
rack,  when  the  cruel  engine  rends  every  joint,  and  every 
sinew  bursts.  Then  fee  throws  himself  on  the  ground. 
He  beacs  his  head  against  the  pavement.  Then  he 
springs  up,  and  with  the  look  and  action  of  a  fury  bursting 
hot  from  the  abyss,  :es  the  instrument  of  death, 

and  after  ripping  up  the  bosom  of  the  lov.ed,  suspected), 
hated,  lamented,  fair  one.  he  stabs  himself  to  the  heart* 
and  exhibits  a  sink'  <r,  how  terrible  a  creature  a 

puny  mortal  Is  whe:  1  >y  an  infernal  passion. 

Dotage^  or  infirm  old  eg-;,  shows  itself  by  talkativeness* 
boasting  of  the  past  ?ssofeyes  and  cheeks,  dim-. 

ness  of  sight,  deafness,  tremor  of  voice,  the  accents,  thro' 
default  of  teeth,   scarce    intelligible  ;  hams  weak,  kneer 
tottering,  head  paralytic,  hollow  covsghrng,  frequent  ex- 
pectoration, breathless  wheezing,  laborious  gronni-i 
body    stooping-    under  tl 
ivhich  soon  shall  ci 
had  its  origir. 

-Fo/c  of  P.  natural  idiot, 

itusl  tho\>  dance  lYovn 

•  to  oi>jec.  ever  fixin 


OF    GESTURE.  40* 

•;,ches,  and  absurdities,  are  played  off' every  mo- 
ment. 

Distraction  opens  the  eyes  to  a  frightful  wideness,  rools 
them  hastily  and  wildly  from  object  to  object  ;  distorts 
every  feature  ;  gnashes  with  the  teeth  ;  agitates  all  parts 
of  the  body  ;  rolls  in  the  dust,  foams  at  the  mouth  ;  tit- 
ters, with  hideous  bellowings,  execrations,  blasphemies, 
and  all  that  is  fierce  and  outrageous  ;  rushes  furiously 
on  all  who  approach  ;  and,  if  not  restrained,  tears  its 
own  flesh,  and  destroys  itself. 

•Sickness  has  infirmity  and  feebleness  in  every  motion 
and  utterance.  The  eyes  dim,  and  almost  closed  ;  cheeks 
pale  and  hollow  ;  the  jaw  fallen  ;  the  head  hung  down, 
as  if  too  heavy  to  be  supported  by  the  neek.  A  general- 
inertia  prevails.  The  voice  trembling  ;  the  utterance 
through  the  nose  ;  every  sentence  accompanied  with  a. 
groan  ;  the  hand  shaking,  and  the  knees  tattering  under 

body  ;  or  the  body  stretched  helpless  on  the  bed. 
Fainting  produces  a  sudden  relaxation  of  all  that  holds 
the   human  frame    together,    every   sinew  and  ligament 
unstrung.    -The  color  Hies  from  the  vermiilion  cheek  ; 
:nrklrngeye  grows  dim.     Down  the  body  drops,   as 
,-ss,   and  senseless,  as   amass  of  clay,  to  which,  by 
•'>•••:   and  appearance,  it  seems  hastening  to  resolve 
" -v— Which  leads  me  to  conclude  with 
Death^  the  awful  end  of  all  flesh  ;   which  ex7. 

in  appearance  different  from   what  I  have  been  just. 
describing  ;  for  fainting  continued  ends  in  death,- — : 
jc'ct  almost  too  serious   to  be   made  a  matter  e. 
imitation. 

J,wjcr  degrees  of  every  passion  are  to  be  expressed  by 
moderate  exertions  of  voice   and  gesture,  as  every 
;  speaker's  discretion  will  suggest  to  him. 
>. r/  passions,   or  emotions  of  the  mind,    require  a 
1  expression.     Pity,    for  example,  is  composed  of 
and   love.     It  is  therefore  evident,  that   a   correct 
.cr  mv.st,  by  his  looks  and  gestures,  and  by  the  tone 
;s  voice,   express,   both  grief  and  love,  in 
exp  r;d  so  of  the  rest. 

nicmbered,  that  the  action,  in  expressing 

as  humors  and  passions,  for  which  I  have  here 

i  to  be  suited  to  the  age,  sex,  condition  and 


404,  £  L  E  M  E  N  T  S,  Sec, 

circumstances  of  the  character.  Violent  anger,  or  rage, 
for  example  is  to  be  expressed  with  great  agitation,  (see 
dnger)  but  the  rage  of  an  infirm  old  man,  of  a  worn  an, 
and  of  a  youth,  aiv  all  different  from  one  another,  and 
from  that  of  a  in  an  in  the  flower  of  his  age,  as  every 
speaker's  discretion  will  suggest.  A  hero  may  shov/ 
fear,  or  sensibility  of  pain  :  but  not  in  the  same  manner 
as  a  girl  would  express  those  sensations.  Grief  may  be 
expressed  by  a  person  reading  a  melancholy  story,  oi> 
description  in  a  room.  It  may  be  acted  upon  the  stage > 
It  may  be  dwelt  upon  by  the  pleader  at  the  bar  ;  or  it  may 
have  a  place  in  a  sermon.  The  passion  is  still  grief* 
But  the  manner  cf  expressing  it  will  be  different  in  each 
of  the  speakers,  if  they  have  judgment, 

A  correct  speaker  does  not  make  a  movement  of  limb 
or  feature,  for  which  he  has  not  a  reason.  If  he  addresses 
heaven,  he  looks  upward.  If  he  speaks  to  his  fellow- 
creatures,  he  looks  round  upon  them.  The  spirit  of  what 
he  says,  or  is  said  to  him,  appears  in  his  look*  If  he  ex- 
presses amazement,  or  would  excite  it,  he  lifts  up  his 
hands  and  eyes.  If  he  invites  to  virtue  and  happiness,  no- 
spreads  his  arms,  and  looks  benevolence.  If  he  threatens; 
the  vengeance  of  heaven  against  vice,  he  bends  his  eye- 
brow into,  wrath,  and  menaces  with  his  arm  and  counte-- 
nance.  He  does  not  needlessly  saw  the  air  with  his  arm* 
ner  stab  himself  with  his  finger.  He  does  not  clap  his 
right  hand  upon  his  breast,  unless  he  has  occasion  to  speak 
of  himself,  or  to  introduce  conscience,  or  somewhat  scnti- 
xnentaL  He  does  not  start  back,  unless  he  wants  to  ex- 
press horror  or  aversion.  He  does  not  come  forward* 
but  when  he  has  occasion  to  solicit.  He  does  not  raise 
his  voice,  but  to  express  somewhat  peculiarly  emphaticaK 
He  does  not  lower  it,  but  to  contrast  the  raising  of  it* 
His  eyes,  by  turns,  according  to  the  humor  of  the  matter 
he  has  to  express,  sparkle  fury,  brighten  into  joy,  glance 
disdain,  melt  into  grief,  fro\vn  disgust  and  hatred?  JanguisJi 
into  love,  or  glare  distraction* 

T  H  £     E  N  IX= 


CONTENTS. 


r|pIIE  Pursuit   of    knowledge   recommended 

1           to  Youth                    —  —  P«  5 

Directions  how  to  spend  our  time          —  — •  & 

Mi  spent  Time  how  punished                   —  •  •  — * 

jctatkm                 /'—                -^«-  —  22 

The  same  continued                     —  '~~ 

Good  Humor  and  Nature                 — >•  *^ 

\rndship                   *•*•**                  — -  ^*~  32 

.Detraction  and  falsehood              ---*-  *— * 

The  importance  of  Punctuality            '— >  ,         —  '4-& 
Temperance  and  Exercise  the  best  Preservatives 

of  Heakh                 —  f               — .  51 

The  Duty  of  Secrecy               *    --  -  — t  59 

CSS                                       — -  —  ^3 

On  lv               /cages  of  a  cheerful  temper  -**:  ' 

Discretion                              — -  +**•  •  70 

PHde                       —  ,'••               —  -'*-  --  7-4 

Drunkenness                         •—  "•-— '  76 

tiing                               Si  &^ 

TTS  and  Gigglers  complained  of  — «  £i^ 

:-:y  produced  by  Sentiments  '-*— 

1  _    ;                  _  — 

]-fu,,;                 ,ro-                            .  .-ii>.  •  99 

f  representing  Human  Nature 

in  its  proper  Dignity                 —  —  103 

Custom  a  second  Nature                 —  *—  107 

.ness                         _  —  111 

-•s  of  a  .c;oo d  Education  i^-  114 

Education  116 

iry   accomplishrneat  in  a  Wo* 

:une  •* "'—  120 

fc  svi rd  i ty  of  O  n ic  n s  _  1 2  3 

^science,  &c*                    —                 12n 

_  _  129 

ies  chiefly  imaginary  -^  133 

'  i  Virtue  preferable  to  a  Life  of  Pleasure  1 39 


406  C  O  N  t  E  N  T  ' 

The  History  of  Amanda               ^   '  1X3 

The  Story  of  Abdallah  and  Balsora                    —  1 46 

Rashness  and  Cowardice                                        -  152 

Fortitude  founded  upon  the  Fear  of  God            —  157 

The  folly  of  youthful  Extravagance                    —  160 

The  Miseries  of  depending  upon  the  Great       —  16i 

What  it  is  to  see  the  World                                  —  168 

The  Story  of  Melissa                   —                     —  ib. 
On  the  Omnicience  and  Omnipresence  of  the 
Deity,  together  with  the  immensity  of  his 
Works                               —                          —173 
Motives  of  Piety  and  Virtue,  dra\vn  from   the 

Omniscience  and  Omnipresence  of  the  Deity  177 

Reflections  on  the  third  Heaven                          —  181 
The  present  Life  to  be  considered  only  as  it  may 

conduce  to  the  happiness  of  a  future  one  186 
On  the  Immortality  of  the  Soul  —  189 
On  the  Animal  World,  and  the  Scale  of  Beings  192 
Providence  proved  from  Animal  Instinct  .''.—*•  196 
Good  Breeding  and  complaisance  .  ,—  198 
Further  Remarks,  taken  from  Lcrd  Chester- 
field's Letters  to  his  Son  202 
Genteel  Carnage  —  ;;  — '  206 
Cleanliness  of  Person  —  .—  209 
Dress  —  — '  —  210 
Elegance  of  Expression  —  —211 
Small  Talk  —  _  214 
Observation  and  Attention  -T  ~'  215 
Absence  of  Mind  —  —  217 
Knowledge  of  the  World  ;  —  218 
Choice  of  Company  —  •-»  226 
Laughter  —  —  228 
Sundry  little  Accomplishments  = —  230 
Dignity  of  Manners  •.*-*  «.  <++• >"  238 
Rules  for  Conversation  ~*±»'  •>'  241 
Further  Remarks  on  the  same,  taken  from  Lord 

Chesterfield's  Letters  to  his  Son             "  *u*  249 

Entrance  upon  the  World                                  '—  257 

Advice  to  a  young  Man                                       —  258 
The  Vision  of  Mlrza,   exhibiting  a  Picture  of 

Human  Life                        —                      —  262 
Riches  not  productive  of  Happiness  ;  the  Story 

cf  O'n>:mi!  of  B-?ra                                    —  266 


CONTENTS.  4CT 

Of , the  Scriptures  as  the  Rule  of  Life    —        —  ,  269 

Of  Genesis                 ^  ~ .f                  —                  —  271 

Oi  Exodus  --"  — ':  .  —   r. 

Of  Leviticus,  Numbers,  and  Deuteronomy 

Of  Joshua                      —                      —              —  275 

Of  Judges,  Samuel,  and  Kings          — 

Of  Chronicles,  Ezra,  Nehemiah,  and  Esther  277 

Of  Job                      ~                  —                   —  ib. 

Of  the  Psalms             —                      —                -  278 

Of  the  Proverbs,  Ecdesiastes,  Solomon's    Song, 

the  Prophecies,  and  Apocrypha                 —  280 

Of  the  New-Testament  —  •—  231 
-Of  the  Example  set  by  our  Saviour,  and  his 

Character            —               T                 -—  283 
A  comparative  View  of  the  Blessed  and  Cursed  at 

the  last  Day,  and  the  inference  to  be  drawn 

from  it                  —                      —  235 

Character  of  St.  Paul                     —                   -  287 

Of  the  Epistles              '\—              .  ~ ...  288 

The  Epistles  of  St.  James                  —  290 

Epistles  of  St.  Peter,  and  the  first  of  St.  John      —  ib. 

•Of  the  Revelations             — .           T                —  ~9* 

True  Devotion  productive  of  the  truest  Pleasure  ib. 
A  Morning  Prayer  for  a  young  Student  at  School, 

or  for  the  common  use  of  a  School          — •  292 

An  Evening  Prayer                    *— .                     ., —  293 

APPENDIX. 

F  Columbus,  and  the  Discovery  of  America  295 

Speech  of  Romulus  after  founding  Rome  305 

Speech  of  Quinctius  Capitolinus  306 

Caius  Marius  to  the  Romans  308 

Demosthenes  to  the  Athenians  —  311 

The  Perfect  Speaker  •**•  -*—  316 
On  the  Duties  of  School-Boys,  from  the  pious  and 

judicious  Rollin  —  '  _  317 

The  Choice  of  a  Rural  Life.^-A  Poera  —  320 

Hymns  and  Prayers  —  . — ,  337 

Character  of  Man  —  —  342 

Winter  ,  —  —  —  ib. 

Douglas's  Account  of  himself  —  ib, 

how  he  learned  the  Art  of  War  —  343 

Baucis  and  Philemon  _  _~  34^ 


C  O  N  T  ^\N  T  S. 

ppiness  •:,.:*  —  3*| 

h  of  Adam  to  Eve               — -  ~-  ^49 
Soliloquy  and  Prayer  of  Edward  the  Black  Prince, 

before  the  Battle  of  Poictkrs  4~  350 

Jn vocation  to  Biiiihcase  Lost  .L  ib* 

ning  Hymn  —  _   '      35} 

The  Hermit,  by  Dr.  Beatie  ~  353 

antages  of  Peace                     —  ._.  355 

•Progress  of  Life                 ~  "  <—  356 

ches  in  the  Roman  Senate  — 

>'s  Soliloquy   on  the  Immortality  of  the  S.  359 

1 1 amlet's  Meditation  on  Death  —  36C 

Selecf  Passages  from  Dramatic  Writers. 

JO F—  Distressed  Mother,                 —  —  361 

Grief—  Distressed  Mother,  ~  ib. 

A*itij — Venice  Preserved,                     -— •  «•—-  36^ 

— Lear,          —                 ^-  -^  ib. 

and  Tear — M on rn ing  Bridge,  •— ,  ib. 

•or — Scande.rbeg,                    '.-*•  -*-  363 
Ang^r — .Lear,           .  ..    -»-                  —             ;   ^-^    •        ib. 

Execration — Venice  Preserved,  *—  ib» 

Rmenge— Merchant  of  Venice,  —  ib. 

Adviiraiwn — Merchant  of  Venice,  364 

Haughtine&z— Tamerlane,                  — -  ib. 

Contempt—? -Fair  Penitent,                   > —  —  ib. 

.:;snati<jn — Jane  Shore,              —  —-  355 

Impatience — -Volpone,  — ~  — - 

-zcAc/y—Fair  Penitent,  — -  •  — 

.orse  and  Despair— Rnsiiis,  ~~  365 

.'racfion— Jane  Shore,                  —  — -  ib. 

Gratitude — Fair  Penitent,  —  ib. 

Intreaty— Jane  Shore,                    —  —  367 

Commanding—  Rinaido  and  Arniida,  ib. 

-Alfred.  —  ib. 

-  -Every  Man  in  his  Humor,  —  ib. 

— Tancred  and  Sigismunda,  —  '363 

hn— Julius  Csssar,  "69 

Humor— 2d  Henry  4 — 1st  Henry  4,  ib. 

—Julius  Csesar*                     *•-  -—  S71 


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